


Forever

by Leopardtail, ru17



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety Disorder, Bucky and Peter both have some issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Happy Ending, Imagine mutual pining but like, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Light Feminization, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Off-screen death, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overprotective Dad Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter is still in high school but he is 18, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Praise Kink, Prison, Prison Penpal, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sexual Themes, Soft Peter Parker, Spit As Lube, Subspace, Swing Dancing, This story will get a bit dark but for now, Threats of Violence, Tony Has Issues, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Relationships, Vigilante Justice, aggressive sex, dark bucky barnes, gratuitous ball worship as Ru likes to say, it's unclear within the story what happens, kinda sorta shower sex, mainly in making up his mind if he's going to be protective or ignore his son, one of them is defo obsessed, trying not to get caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 89,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopardtail/pseuds/Leopardtail, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17
Summary: Peter had always been a bleeding heart. He would've done anything if it meant brightening someone else's day. Even if it was a little outside of the box.Writing inmates became a secret passion project. Helping those on the inside maintain their connection with the outside world in a positive way was something Peter felt a calling in. Hiding it from his overprotective father was fine, as long as he kept an emotional distance, and he always did.That is, until Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Comments: 535
Kudos: 1140





	1. Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a little collab project between myself (Leopardtail) and ru17! This came about because of a misread on my part and evolved to the multichapter chaos you're about to read. POV switches will also be switches between authors so if you notice any glaring style changes that's why : ).
> 
> The only disclaimer I have is that this story will enter some darker territory and there will be misrepresentations of reality. I personally write to prisoners and have met some very kind people who just made dumb choices. This story will NOT reflect what it is actually like to have a prison penpal and DO NOT use this as a guide in any way to begin writing prisoners. As much as I would like to say it is completely safe there are ways that one needs to keep themself safe that Peter doesn't always take into account. My Tumblr and Ru's will be included in the endnotes, if you have any questions please feel free to ask me. I'm happy to talk answer them. Just keep in mind fiction is not reality, especially here. This is the only time I will mention it.

Peter started writing letters to inmates as soon as he turned eighteen. It had started as a light interest and quickly became a passion project. The kid had a heart too big for his sleeve and it bled out into words on paper. He hadn’t been much of a writer before, but it was an obsession that resulted in ten letters a week of varying length being sent out into the world and across the country. It was all friendly, nothing beyond an offer of an ear to vent to and compassion in a prisoner’s darkest moments. It wasn’t until… _him_ that Peter found himself in a whole new territory he had not prepared himself for.   
___ 

His profile had been short, something Peter had a tendency to avoid, as he’d learned quickly that shorter profiles either meant an inability to carry a conversation or a potential scam. Normally he would have glanced past such a profile, looking for ones that displayed depth and intelligence, emotional or literal. His had neither. He didn’t come off as unintelligent, really, it just seemed like he didn’t want to give anything away. 

It was the exact profile Peter should have skipped, but then he saw the picture. 

Steely blue eyes framed by long dark hair looked back at him, unsmiling, but there was something behind them, something Peter couldn’t quite place. The man had slid his features into emotional lockdown but for some reason, Peter was drawn to the glimmer in his eye, one that hinted at mischief that wasn’t quite an ‘open’ quality of the man. It drew Peter in and without thinking, he jotted down the address and anything interesting he could squeeze from the meager details given. He stored it in the notebook he kept specifically for this sort of purpose, before logging off the library computer and running to catch the subway home. 

The train station was surprisingly light on traffic, then again, hadn’t that been the whole point in hiding out in the public library after school? The subway during its lighter hours was prime time for writing. The sway and quiet background chatter lulled him into a state of ease. Words always flowed out of him best in the strange subspace the metro plunged him into. 

Pulling out a fresh notebook, Peter began writing. Usually, he would write to the oldest letters first and work his way towards the newest and any new contacts. Today he broke his normal routine. Balancing the first notebook, Peter grabbed the earlier one he used to keep track of information and set it on top of the first. He read over the information he’d jotted down as he tried to come up with a way to start the letter. 

**_James “Bucky” Barnes_ **

**_Birthday: March 10th, 1988 (32 yrs)_ **

**_Gender: Man_ **

**_Earliest release: 2080_ **

**_Incarcerated Since: 2010_ **

**_Address:_ **

**_James Buchanan Barnes #19251003_ **

**_Hydra Unit_ **

**_25353 Shield Ave._ **

**_Trenton, ML 45789_ **

**_Notes:_ **

**_-Served in the military. Unclear what branch._ **

**_-Arm amputation at some point?_ **

**_-1940’s music and WW2_ **

**_-Gay, Single._ **

Peter stared at the last point. He couldn’t for the life of him explain what possessed him to write down that detail. He knew better, he hadn’t started this looking for romance, the world wasn’t a place where a prison romance could work. It didn’t help that the man was nearly fourteen years older than him, or that he’d be over seventy by the time he saw the outside world again, if ever. Yet, his eyes kept settling on those two words. If nothing else it couldn’t hurt to just strike up friendly conversation? He often found it easier to talk to other gay men. A lot of things could go unspoken and understood, easier to make those deep connections. He’d done it and not fallen for them, even the hot ones. Bucky would be no different once he started talking to him and realized just how little they had in common, it would be the same as every other time. No need to get hung up on it. 

With pen to paper, Peter wrote everything that came to mind. He knew better than to second guess himself on the matter. Honest and open had always gotten him the same in return, and despite his attempts to construct the outline for the emotional barrier he needed to put up, he couldn’t help but hope that Bucky would find him as interesting as he found the other man. It was a childish want but he clung to it more than he was proud to admit. 

The letter mostly spoke of his love of photography and technology, the occasional joke or detail on his life. A few photos to give a face to a name, and he sealed it. It was harmless. Completely and utterly harmless.  
___

The first letter came a little less than a week later.

That morning the tower was quiet. Dad had left behind a note and a quick breakfast, but was otherwise not a part of his morning. It was always a rough start to the day when he didn’t see his father, but Tony Stark was in high demand and Peter would have to wait his turn. With a sigh, he ate the breakfast sandwich Tony had shoved into the warmer, the one he'd insisted they needed for times like this. While it was nice to have a warm meal, nothing beat fresh onto the plate and their brief bonding time. 

Slightly frustrated, Peter left, not bothering to shoot out a text to let Tony know where he would be. Peter only went to school on A-Schedule days, he’d done a half load of classes instead of graduating early which left every other day free for him to do as he wished, and most of it was spent volunteering. Tony would know where he was and would call him if he forgot. 

The local youth center hosted STEM and photography workshops that Peter ran almost single-handedly. As a senior volunteer, he was often trusted with more than was likely ethical. Most days, it was a blast, the only exception being Thursdays. Those days were like being handed a steaming pile of shit and having to grovel at the “generosity” bestowed upon you. Thursdays were the beginner's photography course. The class itself was fine. What was insufferable was Skip Westcott.

Peter was finishing cleaning up when Skip sauntered into the room. He’d had the kids taking pictures of a variety of circuits and boards, encouraging them to play around with composition and introduce their own flair to the process. It had been a blast and he had forgotten all about the weekly torture session he was still slotted to endure. 

Skip entered the room with a confidence only possessed by truly oblivious men. Peter tried not to groan when he saw him coming through the door. He was almost done anyway and could escape with a polite hello if he played his cards right. 

“Peter! Seems I’ve finally caught you alone for once!”

Peter didn’t smile and resisted the urge to make a snarky comment about how the lack of alone time between them was very much intentional. “Sorry Skip, but I was just leaving. I have to beat my dad home from work.” 

He turned his back on Skip. It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time. Just another way to cold shoulder the man who believed he could monopolize Peter’s time. He should have known better. 

A pair of hands grabbed his hips before the weight of another body sent him stumbling into one of the counters against the wall. Skip’s breath trickled down his neck and sent every fiber of his being on alert. Skip had one leg shoved between his, leaving him unable to get a clean groin shot in. 

“Aw, don’t be like that Petey, I’m sure we can have some fun without missing out on daddy’s homecoming.” Skip pressed more of his weight into Peter’s back, hands on the counter bracketing Peter in. 

Skip had always been forward but never like this. Beginning to truly panic, Peter slammed his elbow into the other man’s ribs. It was hard with how his front was being pressed down to get a full-strength shot in, but he connected with the solid wall of Skip’s ribs point-blank. A pained gasp sounded right by his ear and in that brief moment, the steady pressure eased. Bingo. 

Using the leg skip hadn’t caged in, Peter hooked his foot behind Skip’s knee and slammed it into the cabinets under the counter. Swearing, Skip lost his balance and teetered sideways. 

Peter didn’t bother to see if Skip would catch himself or what his next move would be, opting to dart out of the room as soon as he was free and running. He didn’t stop until he was nearly home and completely out of breath. Greedliy gulping air, he tried to process what had just happened, but his brain kept avoiding the facts in favor of blind panic. With a few desperate pat-downs, he found his phone and opened it, planning on calling someone, anyone to fix this situation, when an email notification blipped onto the screen. 

The email was from the postal service saying a letter had arrived in his PO Box. The jittery thoughts in his mind slowed as he clicked on the link out of habit. There it showed pictures of the letters he had received, and right there on the top was a name he hadn’t quite expected to see. 

_James Buchanan Barnes #19251003_ was written in a hand that seemed almost unaccustomed to print. The letters still had loops and curls that gave them the character of something akin to cursive, but just far enough from it that it would pass through the machines without issue. It was tucked neatly away in the corner but Peter’s eye was drawn to it. His own name was written in the center of the letter in the same fine print. Peter found himself liking this version of his name better than his own in someways. 

With a shaky sigh, Peter glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Skip. Turning back to his phone, he already knew he wasn’t going straight home.   
___

Peter didn’t know what to do about Skip, so he avoided it. Avoiding it, though, meant not telling anybody and it was eating away at him. Something vile that gnawed behind his sternum. Bottling it up left him a ticking time bomb, and every precious second he felt slipping between his fingers. Tony couldn’t know. He would kill Skip and then forbid him from leaving the house unattended, and there was no way in hell Peter could continue his secret prison writing scheme if that happened. He would lose the one outlet that let him be raw when everyone beat him down for it. No, he couldn’t tell his dad. 

So he told Bucky.


	2. Unexpected

Looking back on it, it was almost ironic that the whole thing was thanks to Steve.

To be fair, at this point, Bucky probably should have known better. Steve had never steered him wrong, not once in their entire lifetime of friendship. So when he clapped Bucky on the shoulder in the middle of the one hour a week they got to see each other, and said, his voice steady but thick with concern, “I wish you’d give this pen pal thing a chance, Buck,” he should’ve known better than to doubt whether or not it was a good idea.

Because it was Steve, and Steve had never steered him wrong.

So of course it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to Bucky.

—

“What would I even say?” Bucky asked a week later, after Steve sat down at the visitor’s table and immediately asked him if he’d signed up for a pen pal yet. “I don’t exactly have the most interesting life, Steve. Even if I found a partner, they’d just get bored talkin’ to me.”

“So keep the focus on them,” Steve suggested, as nonchalant as he made everything sound. Bucky liked that about him, most times. Steve only made things into a big deal when he really believed he had to. “You don’t have to commit to everyone who sends you a letter. Wait ‘til somebody comes along who seems interesting, and then if you can’t think of anything to write, just try to get to know them.”

He gave Bucky a familiar, comforting smile, the one that always used to make him look so grown up back when they were kids. Steve had always been old before his time.

“I know the monotony of your day-to-day routine can get really hard to cope with sometimes, Buck,” Steve said, as if Bucky hadn’t been _coping_ with it for almost a decade, now. “We only get to see each other once a week. I think having something else to look forward to would be good for you.”

And suddenly, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He knew it took its toll on Steve, too, seeing him like this, having to make the trip from Manhattan to Michigan every single week. And he had, every Saturday since Bucky’s incarceration. He’d never missed a visit.

Maybe this was Steve’s way of asking for something for both of them.

And, well. Bucky owed him hell of a lot more than this.

“All right, Stevie,” he relented, sighing to make it sound like he wasn’t giving in purely for Steve’s sake, though he could probably tell he was. He always saw right through Bucky. “You win. I’ll sign up for a pen pal.”

—

It wasn’t much, at first. A month went by before he even saw a letter, and when it arrived, it was a handwritten miniature novella from a sixty-eight-year-old woman named Gladys, telling him she forgave him for his sins _and the Lord will too, James, I’ll teach you to pray._ Steve hid his disappointment well when Bucky told him he didn’t write her back, but he could still see it in the other man’s eyes.

The months went on and the letters were scarce, but they did come. A lonely woman who either didn’t see that his profile mentioned he was gay, or just didn’t care. An author looking for an inmate’s perspective of what prison’s “really” like. An impersonal, multi-signed birthday card from the charity committee of the local Trenton library. Another shot from Gladys asking him if he wanted to see the light. Steve liked her, but not enough to take her address when Bucky offered.

And then, one day, it came.

The first letter from _him._

Bucky wasn’t immediately captivated by the smudged, boyish penmanship on the front. The only reason he still entertained this charade was for Steve, and because he never had a good reason not to open a letter when one came. He didn’t have any expectations when he carefully peeled the envelope open and pulled out the first letter Peter Stark ever sent him.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to fall in love.

The letter was sweet. Peter was young, and it showed. The way he talked about his life was full of enthusiasm and that wide-eyed optimism that all green boys had. He talked about his hobbies, his dreams of what he wanted to study in college. He made jokes and wrote funny little anecdotes about his life, ridiculous and endearing at the same time. Bucky found himself grinning as he read through the letter, absolutely charmed by the fresh breath of air that was Peter Stark.

And then he flipped to the next page, and saw the photos Peter had slid inside the paper.

 _“I don’t just take selfies, but I thought you might want to see what I look like,”_ the letter said. Bucky stared, lifting each sharp-edged image up individually, like seeing them in the light might change the way he felt about them.

It didn’t. Peter was grinning in both photos, a smile so wide it was like he didn’t know how to turn it off. Bright amber eyes smiled at the camera, framed by a wave of chocolate curls, a little unkempt in a way that was boyishly attractive. Peter was well-dressed for a teenager, and Bucky couldn’t help but pick up on the little things - a high-rise view out of the window behind him, an expensive laptop sitting on the table at his side. Bucky had spent enough time near wealthy people to know at a glance that Peter came from money.

He never would have guessed it, based on the boy’s letter.

He wasn’t ashamed that the first thought that popped into his head was that Peter was handsome. Beautiful, even, especially in the second photo, with the way the neon glow from the sunset beyond his bedroom window cast a fiery halo on the tips of his unruly curls, how it made the light blaze in his honey-colored eyes. Peter was gorgeous, and vibrant, and so young it made Bucky feel a little sad. _What are you doing writing me, sweet thing?_ he couldn’t help but wonder, feeling like he’d already wasted some vital part of the boy’s life that he’d never get back.

But behind the photos sat the rest of Peter’s letter, and that’s where Bucky fell in love.

Peter talked a little about his experience as a gay teen, how his high-profile, overbearing celebrity father and his own reputation of being a brilliant student led to feelings of isolation, of feeling disconnected to the people around him. Bucky couldn’t have had a more different upbringing, aside from the closeted part, but he found himself relating to how Peter said it felt. The boy was so young. But there was wisdom there, too, Bucky could see it now - Peter might’ve only been eighteen, but he had that kind of soulful wisdom beyond his years, just like Steve.

He actually reminded Bucky a lot of Steve, as he read on, and Peter delved into why he was doing this, what he got out of it. Gentle, pure-hearted Peter, who volunteered to help other kids in need, who was scared he might tarnish his dad’s reputation by coming out of the closet, who wrote to prisoners all across the country in his free time, just to make someone he didn’t even know feel a little less alone, even if they were the most unforgivable members of society.

Peter was good and kind and smart, and he sounded like a bit of a brainiac, but didn’t seem ashamed of it. He was artistic and beautiful and compassionate, and by the end of the letter, Bucky felt like he’d just taken his first steps as a free man, like he’d stepped outside the walls of his prison and walked free in the sunshine after never thinking he would again.

 _“I look forward to getting to know you!”_ was the last thing he’d written, above a messily drawn smiley-face and an endearing valediction of, _“Sincerely yours, Peter Stark.”_

Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the _sincerely yours_ for a long, long time. He wondered if Peter knew where that phrase came from, if the history behind it was lost on him. He was a smart boy - was the hint of devotion intentional, or was he showing his youth, simply choosing a common, respectful complimentary close without any further thought of what it might mean?

He supposed, if he wanted to find out, he’d have to write Peter back.

—

The first letter took him more than a day to write. He started over and over again, hating each draft he came up with because none of them sounded right. In the end, he ended up taking Steve’s advice: he kept the focus on Peter as much as possible.

He started by thanking him for his letter, which wasn’t hard, because each time he re-read it, those feelings of gratitude only swelled. He dedicated the rest of the letter to asking more about Peter’s life - what he wanted to do after college, what his favorite thing about photography was, how his volunteering was going. He thanked him for the photos and couldn’t help but add that they were easily the best gift he’d gotten in years, though he didn’t mention that he’d hung them on the wall beside his bunk - he didn’t know if the boy would find that creepy or not, and he wasn’t taking any chances of scaring him away.

The sixth draft of his letter was the one he chose to send. It was weird how _this,_ of all things, was the first thing to make Bucky feel uneasy in longer than he could remember. He was going to die someday in this building, surrounded constantly by murderers and torturers, and it never gave him the slightest hint of anxiety. But this - stamping his envelope and watching it disappear inside the slot of the collection box - this made his stomach roll, unsettled like the ocean in a storm.

He couldn’t stand the thought that Peter might never write him back, which wasn’t just a possibility, it was likely. A talented, attractive, affluent young man like him had no business wasting time handwriting letters to someone like Bucky. It’d be a miracle if he ever heard from him again.

But the desire was there, and it was hot and greedy in the pit of his stomach. He listened intently for his name to be called during mail call, even when it was only the next day, and there was no way Peter had even received his letter yet, let alone sent one back. He read and re-read the boy’s letter until the paragraphs were burned into his memory. He stared at Peter’s gorgeous, cheerful face on his wall until he’d counted every eyelash, until every detail of Peter's handsome face was memorized.

“You look happy,” Steve said to him that Saturday, and Bucky could only grin and say, “I think I found a pen pal, Stevie.”

Steve had beamed and patted him on the shoulder, and Bucky swallowed his anxiety as best he could and spent the next week daydreaming of Peter, of what the boy might say, of praying he actually sent a letter back.

But when the letter did come, it gutted Bucky through to his core.

He could almost tell that Peter was upset by his penmanship alone. The messy scrawl of the first letter was almost illegible now, though Bucky had spent so long mapping out Peter’s handwriting he was able to read it like it was his own. Peter wrote it like he was writing urgently, frantic and uncoordinated, sometimes missing the lines on the paper completely.

The first page was a polite, congenial reply to Bucky’s own letter, but the tone couldn’t have been more different from the last one. It scorched Bucky’s nerves, thinking he’d already messed this up, that something he’d said had made Peter feel so uncomfortable it was practically audible in his handwriting. His mind was racing as he tried to piece together what he’d said to push Peter away, until he flipped to the second page.

The truth was almost as bad.

 _“As for volunteering, well…”_ Peter began, almost shyly, before he seemed to find the strength to divulge why he was really upset.

Bucky nearly tore the letter in half.

He almost saw red as his eyes darted over the page, catching on words like _“grabbed”_ and _“cornered”_ and _“had to fight him off.”_ But mostly, mostly his eyes were fixed on _“this guy named Skip,”_ because those were the words he was committing to memory.

What if Peter stopped writing back one day, and this was why? Bucky wouldn’t even know if it was because of something he said. Peter would just be _gone,_ and he would have no way of knowing if he or Skip was to blame.

The anger was like a current coursing through his body, flooding every inch of him. His hand shook as he held his pen to the paper, trying to think of what to say, when all he wanted to say was, _I’ll kill him for touching you._

Instead, he said all the things he wished he could say to Peter in person, the things he imagined he would say if Peter was telling him about what happened to his face. He told him to be brave, and strong. Told him that what happened wasn’t his fault, and that he did good defending himself. He told him to be careful, and threw in a few tips on how to immobilize someone when they grab him, both from behind and from the front. He told him Skip would get what’s coming to him, and hoped Peter wasn’t scared to hear him say so.

This time, he mailed the first draft of the letter he’d written, because he only had to write it once.

That night, he fell asleep to thoughts of Skip Westcott choking on his own blood.


	3. Safety-Net

_He’ll get what’s coming to him._

Peter trailed over that phrase over and over again. Running his fingers over the neatly flowing ink that both scared and comforted him with its pregnant meaning. He wanted to brand the feeling that phrase inspired in him across his palms just so he could feel it in every waking moment. He shouldn’t have loved the way it sounded; the things it meant, coming from a convicted murderer, were far darker than anything he had ever dealt with before. Yet it only made him love it further. To have a man who could and _had_ done something so extreme, saying with such certainty that Skip would get his due, was intoxicating. He felt protected, cared for. All from a man a thousand miles away locked behind concrete walls.

Glancing around his room as if expecting someone to be watching, Peter smoothed the paper against his chest. His halo of curls tossed backwards as his head tilted towards the ceiling, trying not to cry. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he took deep, shuddering inhales. He was getting in too deep. He’d had crushes before, but nothing like this. Nothing that made it all feel so close. They’d only exchange two letters, and here he was relying on a safety net nowhere near where he would land if he fell. A brief, stinging thought passed by, one which whispered horribly about abandoning the letter, simply ignoring the man before he threw all of his weight into one basket and shattered when something inevitably broke him. He thrust it away, unsure if he was more frightened by his thoughts or the part of him that cried out like a terrified child at the thought of stopping.

The silence in his room was dense for some time after that as he studied the ceiling, planning not only his next letter but next move. _I wish I could hear his voice._ The thought seemed like a passerby, nothing to dwell on, just another interruption in his planning as there always seemed to be. With a start, he jerked upright. _But I can._ Golden eyes zeroed in on the laptop charging on his bed. Lacking his usual grace, he fumbled to get out of his chair and to the device. Not even bothering to get fully on the bed, he knelt on the floor while his torso rested against the comforter, knees planted firmly on the floor. With a violent motion that even made him flinch, he jerked open the computer and frantically logged in. Enabling the VPN he’d tweaked to keep his father out of certain files, Peter logged into the one thing he told himself he would never use.

The prison emailing system.

He hated the service, it took advantage of loved ones just trying to connect with each other by charging by the page, and even minute on the inmates' end. And it was his one shot at hearing and _seeing_ Bucky in as close to the flesh as he could manage. He found Bucky quickly, taking less than a full minute before he was adding him to his contacts and buying the digital “stamps” the site used. He got all the way to opening the video recording application before he paused. He had no fucking clue what to say. He had thirty seconds and no idea how he could make them count. He could wait a bit, send a physical letter telling him there would be a video waiting, because he had no idea if Bucky checked his inmate email and would see it without being prompted. It would give him some time to think about what to do. The spirit would leave him though, he knew that this moment of spontaneity would vanish if he didn’t use it to its fullest now. Forcing himself not to overthink it, he hit record.

The first two seconds were silent as Peter stared at his own face. To his horror, his face flushed red. He made a few unintelligible sounds before he could finally find words.

“Ah, um, hi Bucky!” his voice pinched briefly. Thank God his dad wasn’t home, or he’d think he was suffocating and barge in at that awful sound. “I, uh, I just wanted to send you a little video saying thank you. Your letter meant a lot to me and I just wanted you to know that. I know using this service can get kinda expensive, but I thought it would help to hear me say it out loud. I can keep writing physical letters too, but this might be nice for every now and again. If you want, I mean.” Peter was red up to his ears. God, he must look like a nervous wreck. “I hope you’re doing well.” The words came out far more tender than he intended. The kind of tone that was whispered between longtime lovers and life partners. The kind of thing that was followed up with “I love you” or “I miss you.” It scared him to hear it. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

The video ended. Knowing he would back out otherwise, Peter hit send before he could mull over what he’d done. He’d just opened a window and of all the things he could have worried about, Bucky closing it back on him was what kept him up that night.   
___  
  
Peter tried not to wince as lights flashed in his eyes. The red carpet in front of him reminded him of a tongue, guiding prey to a gruesome end and the people bracketing it, held in place by bodies and ropes, were its teeth. He jumped when an arm wrapped in a familiar fashion around his shoulders. He looked up at his dad, all smiles hiding behind sunglasses to protect his eyes, despite the dark hour. Peter wished he had abandoned his anti-sunglasses-at-night policy and just taken a pair with him now that the paparazzi were attempting to blind him. Who thought flash was a good idea?

Tony Stark grinned down at his son and began guiding him through the aisle. Waving and glowing under the attention, happy to accept it for both of them as Peter attempted to recede into himself both physically and mentally to escape the noise and chaos. He didn’t know if Tony was ignoring the reaction to save him from more embarrassment, or he was just being oblivious. Probably a bit of both.

Inside Hammerstein Ballroom was no better. The historic ballroom was filled with the rich socialites of the city that felt ripped from another time. Women laughed and men practically shouted as they spoke to one another. If he wasn’t representing the Stark name he would have covered his ears and fled from the chaos. As if his dad could read his thoughts, the hand on his shoulder tightened slightly, attempting to be reassuring, before slipping away as Tony recognized someone.

“Steve! Great to see you!” Peter turned away from the crowd as Tony embraced a tall, blond man built like a brick shithouse.

He tried to slip away while his dad was distracted, to find somewhere quiet while he was forgotten about for a few hours, but the blond caught sight of him as he began to back away and grinned ear to ear.

“Tony, are you gonna introduce me?” Steve gestured good-naturedly at Peter, who wished he could be anywhere else as his father zeroed in on him once again.

“You haven’t met my son yet?” Tony appeared genuinely confused, it made Peter’s stomach sink. His dad forgot sometimes how little they got out together.

“No, I don’t think I have. I don’t think I’ve heard much about him, either.” Steve turned those cornflower blue eyes on him. He was stunning, a truly beautiful man. _But he’s not Bucky._

Peter tried to hide the way he tensed as that thought let itself in. Grey eyes looked back at him for a second, and part of Peter was terrified while the other wished it was real. Steve strode up to him, gently took his hand and shook it. Peter forced a smile and felt bad when Steve gave him a sincere one in return.

“Steve Rogers, nice to meet you. I’ve known your dad for a couple of years. I’m surprised this is our first introduction, but better late than never.” Steve frowned briefly, but it was so fast Peter wasn’t entirely sure it had truly been there. Steve let go of his hand and refrained from crowding him, which was greatly appreciated on Peter’s end.

“I’m Peter, I don’t usually come to these events so maybe that’s why we haven’t met?” He couldn’t help wringing his hands, thankfully Steve didn’t make it hard to maintain eye contact with his gentle demeanor.

A light seemed to turn on in Steve’s eyes, it surprised Peter a bit. The older man looked over at Tony, who had wandered off a few feet and was talking to one of the state representatives. Steve leaned in. “You wouldn’t happen to know James Barnes, would you?” he whispered.

All the color drained from Peter’s face and he stuttered. Steve must have known he was ready to bolt as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. “I won’t tell your dad. I’ve known Buck for years. I never thought I would meet the kid he’s been talking about in a city of several million. Should have guessed based on the last name, but I didn’t really even know you existed.” Peter wanted to sink into the floor when Steve’s eyebrows knit together in pity. “He doesn’t talk about you much.” Steve cocked his head unconsciously towards Tony.

They both tensed a little when they heard footsteps coming closer. Steve glanced over before whispering under his breath, “We’ll have to talk more later. Here, if you need me.” Steve slipped a business card into Peter’s hand before turning fully to the newcomer. “Dr. Banner! How nice to see you here!” Steve stepped away as an unassuming man came up to him, who muttered a bit about not wanting to interrupt as he proceeded to lead Steve away.

Peter watched him go before looking for his dad. He didn’t have to for long. Off, already in the thick of it, was Tony, scotch in hand and an arm wrapped around a blushing young man’s waist. Peter had to look away, not wanting to see the scene before him. He steeled himself to interrupt, or at least lurk nearby, only to look back and see his dad running a hand up the young man’s thigh. Tony and Peter made eye contact just as that hand got dangerously close to an area Peter was adamantly trying to ignore. A glare was all Peter got before his dad slipped away into the crowd again with his bed warmer for the night. A watery sigh slipped past pink lips as Peter practically ran away from the mass of drunken bodies that felt like they would swallow him whole.

His anxiety spiked dangerously. Everything felt like it was falling away as Peter tried to find a corner to hide in. Desperately, he tried not to think about his father’s blatant abandonment, tried to remind himself that it was okay, he was probably just being moody. He would have an apology note on his desk with a Butterfinger beside it in the morning and it would be fine. _Don’t take it personally, don’t take it personally. It’s just the way he is._

He tucked himself away in a secluded corner, curled into himself and let the strange, thin inlet protect him on all sides. The hall it was in was too dark for any passersby to really see much more than a shadow. He knew that well enough, it wasn’t his first time in this particular corner.

People filtered in and out. He was close to the bathrooms, but far enough down the hall that no one dawdled or stuck around. Head pressed into the wall, Peter watched the shifting gold and sliver of outfits glide by, ignoring the voice that berated him for hiding away.

His phone buzzed after the clock ticked its way through an hour. Peter checked it out of habit.

_Iron Dad: It’s been two hours_

_Iron Dad: Where the fuck are you?!?!?_

The messages were followed by several pissed off emojis that clued Peter into the level of drunk his dad was. The use of the ‘fuck’ emoji suggested an oncoming blackout. He was about to respond when a notification popped up along the top of his screen.

_PriMail: New Message from James Barnes #19251003._

He didn’t hesitate, clicking the slim bar and opening up the email in its entirety. It was simple, but made his heart feel light and brought him back to settle down on earth at the same time.

_Peter,_

_We haven’t known each other long, but I don’t think I could explain to you how relieved I was to hear your voice. I’ve been worried about you since the last letter you sent me, but seeing your face and being able to hear that you’re alright has calmed my fears. I needed that, so thank you._

_And you’re welcome. For the letter, I mean. I’m not much good at this. My handwriting probably isn’t very legible. But I’m still looking forward to being your penpal. I hope you can say the same._

_I enjoyed the video. Can’t say very many guys in my cellblock are quite as easy on the eyes. If you wanted to send more, I’d like that. Though I’d also like it if you continued sending the letters. It’s nice having something to take back to my cell._

_I hope you’re doing well, too. Don’t feel shy about sending another letter the next time you need someone to talk to._

_Yours,_

_Bucky Barnes_

He didn’t know if Bucky liked him even half as much as he did the other man, but the concern both for Peter and the hope he felt from Bucky in their budding connection was nearly overwhelming in his fragile state. He wished he could simply call Bucky and vent about the night and all the little things he couldn’t put in his letters. He wanted to cry in frustration, angry that the one person he wanted to tell everything was held away from him, even in the age of constant connection.

A few more angry texts from his father had him slinking out of his corner and back towards the front of the ballroom. In the five minutes it had taken him to get outside to the car, Happy already had a passed out Tony Stark strapped into the back seat. Taking pity on him, Happy offered to let him ride upfront on the way home.

The rest of the night was spent writing. Peter poured over page after page. Some highlighted highs, dotted with smiley faces and ‘thank you’s to Bucky for brightening his day. Others showed drops, a barely restrained heartache and loneliness that plagued him. Part of it was a test - laying himself bare was frightening but if Bucky avoided it, he would go back to bottling it up as he always did. If Bucky acknowledged it, well, being raw made that outcome far more frightening than the former. A part of him yearned for it anyway, someone who he could tell absolutely _everything_ in a time when he felt more like a set piece than a human. A deep, ugly part of him wanted nothing more than to depend on Bucky entirely, but he shoved it away again and again as he wrote. He’d even been able to convince himself it was a harmless thing to want, nothing out of the ordinary for a blossoming adult.

He’d been so successful, in fact, that nothing struck him as strange as he texted Steve Rogers one simple text.

_Hi Steve, it’s Peter! I was wondering, how hard is it to plan a prison visit?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Leopardtail's Tumblr](https://ceratonia-siliqua.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Ru's Tumblr](https://send-me-hcs.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, I don't think either of us mentioned this but we update this fic on Mondays!


	4. In Too Deep

Bucky didn’t know how many times he’d watched the video.

It had to have been at least a dozen, by now. It was short, and not exactly overflowing with information, but Bucky loved every second.

He didn’t care that the kiosk was charging him per second to even view the video at all, let alone replay it over and over again. The perversely corrupt system that had been established purely to prey on some of the most helpless and marginalized members of society normally bothered him - especially in regards to some of his fellow prisoners who had no reason being here - but when it came to Peter, to seeing his face and hearing his voice and listening to the inflection in his tone as he said, _“Hi Bucky!”_ somehow, the rest of it all faded into the background.

Fuck it. Let those monsters leech off of him for anything they could get, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. He was here for life. It wasn’t like he needed the money.

But Peter? Alarmingly, every day that went by, it felt like he needed Peter more and more.

Steve had gotten him a tablet, years ago, when they started offering them for prisoner use. It was a birthday gift that he’d always felt guilty for never using - he knew Steve was just trying to help any way he could. Bucky had never been great with technology, even just writing an email to Peter had almost been more trouble than it was worth - but figuring out how to download the video Peter sent him so he could watch it whenever he wanted, tucked away in the modest privacy his cell offered was...incredible.

Peter was beautiful. Bucky already knew that, but it was impossible not to be reminded of it every time he hit _play._ He was gorgeous, stunning in an almost otherworldly way, bright-eyed and soft and so fucking sweet it made Bucky’s jaw ache. His honey-colored eyes never looked away from the camera lens, though Bucky could tell the boy was feeling shy as he recorded, cheeks pink right to his ears. His warm smile was dazzling, petal-pink lips that looked so soft to the touch curving up to reveal rows of pristinely-white teeth. His hair, it seemed, never sat neatly on his head, curls always laying whichever way they chose, endearingly messy in a way that belied just how young Peter really was.

Bucky would give anything to be able to run his fingers through it, try his hand at taming those wild curls, if only a little.

Every time he watched the video, he couldn’t help but focus on some new, minor detail he hadn’t noticed before, drinking it in every second that he could. Like how smooth Peter’s skin was, perfectly unblemished as if he’d never gone through the dreaded acne period every other teenager on the planet had. Or how cheerful his voice was, almost naturally, so sweet to Bucky’s ears he could close his eyes and fantasize about falling asleep to it. Or how long Peter’s eyelashes were, so fucking pretty that all Bucky could think about was what it’d be like to have the boy blinking those long lashes up at him in real life.

But his favorite part of the video, easily, was right at the end, when Peter’s voice dipped ever so slightly into something... _intimate,_ a shy, warm tone that made Bucky’s blood course five degrees hotter in his veins, watching raptly as Peter gazed up at the camera lens through partly-lidded eyes and softly said, _“I hope you’re well.”_ It was the way he said it, the look on his face as he did, the quieter tone like he wanted to ensure nobody else would ever hear those words, because they were only Bucky’s. _“I’ll talk to you soon.”_

God, Bucky hoped so. He hoped Peter would send another video - hoped he would send thousands of them, fuck it, he wanted to see everything. He wanted Peter to document every moment of his life, every minute he spent breathing outside of Bucky’s presence, just so he wouldn’t miss another second of it. Just so he could make sure that shitstain Skip Westcott never came within fifty feet of him again, nor anyone else who wished him harm.

(Should it have scared him, how fiercely he wanted to keep Peter safe, even in the beginning?

It didn’t.)

Everything about Peter spoke to Bucky, as if the kid was designed specifically to be his vice, his siren sent to lure him into the deep. Except, he was already in the deep, wasn’t he? Couldn’t get much deeper than a life sentence in prison. If someone wanted him dead, there were more than enough people surrounding him who would do it for the right price.

There was nobody out there who would go through the trouble of creating Peter Stark just to mess with him, not since he was technically as good as dead, as far as the rest of the world was concerned.

Which meant Peter was real.

He was Bucky’s, for real.

—

That Saturday, Steve dropped a bombshell on him almost the moment he sat down at the visitor’s table. “I met Peter.”

Bucky could only blink, for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish. “You - what? My Peter?”

Steve’s smile left his eyes, at that, without quite leaving his face. “Peter Stark, yeah. We met at a charity event a few days ago - he’s Tony Stark’s son, Buck. _The_ Tony Stark. He never mentioned that in any of his letters?”

“No,” Bucky said, feeling more than a little dumbfounded. That raised a lot more questions than it answered. “He didn’t. I mean - I could tell he came from money, and he mentioned having a high-profile celebrity father, but - _the_ Tony Stark? I never would have assumed that.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky couldn’t help himself, launching into a barrage of questions before he could make a sound: “You - you met him? What’s he like? Did he seem okay? I’m expecting another letter from him any day now, but - I haven’t heard anything since the video he sent me, so I’ve been worried. How did he seem? Come on, Stevie, talk to me.”

“I’m waiting for you to take a breath,” Steve said, teasing despite the furrowed dip in his brow. Bucky had put him on edge, clearly. But he couldn’t bring himself to really care too much in that moment. “He’s short.”

Bucky gawked. “...What?”

“He’s short,” Steve said again, as if that answered all of Bucky’s questions. “For his age, I mean. He’s just a kid, Bucky.”

“He’s legally an adult,” Bucky said back, defensive. “C’mon, Steve, that didn’t answer anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” the man sighed. “He seemed - I don’t know. Stressed. I don’t think he likes grand, upscale events like his dad does. He certainly wasn’t the life of the party. He practically disappeared after Tony introduced us. I could tell he didn’t really want to be there.”

Bucky’s heart sank. The poor thing. Shy, vulnerable and forced to attend the kind of circus-act parties Tony Stark’s been infamous for throwing for longer than Peter’s even been alive. Bucky could only imagine how the boy who wrote those letters must have felt, surrounded by strange yuppies consuming God-knows-what under the scrutinizing eye of the public, forced to find somewhere to hide. Jesus, what Bucky wouldn’t give to be able to hug him.

Steve wasn’t looking at him anymore - shoulders drawn up and staring down at his hands, clasped together tightly on the tabletop. The look he got when he had more to say, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to or not. Steve so rarely held his tongue, especially with Bucky, that it momentarily struck him right from his fantasies. He clearly had something he needed to tell him. “What else?”

Steve, honest as ever, rubbed his forehead and refused to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“You clearly want to. Or at least feel like you should. Can’t bullshit me, Stevie. Come on. Out with it.”

Sighing, Steve gathered his resolve and looked him straight in the eyes, his frown tight.

“Peter wants to visit you.”

Bucky jerked so hard he almost caved in the table leg with his kneecap. “Fuck - I - what did you say?”

“He texted me, after the charity event. He asked about the process of arranging a visit - ”

“What did you tell him?” Bucky cut in, unable to hold himself back. Peter and Steve were _texting?_ What possible reason would Steve have to give the kid his number? “Fuck, Steve, what did you tell him?”

“The truth. I told him what the process is like, what to expect, that sort of thing.” The man looked up at him, held his gaze in that stern, commanding way only Steve had ever been able to do, that don’t-you-dare-look-away-until-I-say-you-can stare. Not hiding, now. Just staring like he was trying to read Bucky’s mind. “But I need to know right now, Bucky, if I should be telling him something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe it isn’t such a good idea, right now.” He raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s furious glare, and added, “See, that? Right there? That worries me. He is a _kid,_ Bucky. A kid you’ve known for a few weeks and never spoken to directly. Is this...good for you? Are you all right? Because if not, I need to know, right now. I need to know if this has already gone too far while I still have the power to stop it.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky said, not snapping like he wanted to, but playing into how exasperated Steve had a way of making him feel - getting angry, though that was his first instinct, would only drive the man further in the wrong direction. Bucky couldn’t allow that. “I’m _fine._ Forgive me if I’m sort of fixated on the first new thing to come into my life in an entire decade. Aren’t you the one who said that having something to break up the monotony of my routine would be a good thing?”

“I wanted you to have someone to talk to, Buck, but this already seems…” he paused, so unlike Steve, who always said what he meant, regardless of how it made anyone else feel. “Look. I just want you to be careful. You’re talking to a kid half your age, whose father could buy this entire prison just to have you shot without even making a dent in his bank account. Not only that, but you’re obviously very attached - despite having minimal contact - to a kid who is being groomed to be a full-time public figure, and will probably have to give up his side-hobby of sending letters to inmates sooner or later. This seems like it could go very sideways very fast. I’m just asking you to be careful.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose to try and thwart the headache he could feel threatening to bloom inside his skull. Steve could be melodramatic at the best of times, and sometimes his good-natured worrywart outlook was as irritating as it was familiar. “Steve,” Bucky sighed, trying to conjure what he could possibly say that would appease the other man, without telling him the whole truth. “Tony Stark is not going to have me executed. Because I’m not doing anything wrong, and neither is Peter. Our conversations haven’t gone _near_ any topic you would label ‘inappropriate,’ and I doubt Peter has any intention of changing that anytime soon. We’re just talking. We’re using this penpal service exactly how it’s intended.”

Steve’s face softened at that, somewhat, and Bucky could see he was finally starting to talk him down. “I’m sure you’re right, and someday Peter will either lose interest or get too busy with his real life to keep talkin’ to me. But that’s why I want to enjoy it while it lasts. And sue me if I seem a little overprotective. The kid doesn’t have the easiest life, by the sounds of it, and I wanna know he’s okay. That’s all it is.”

There was still a trace of doubt on Steve’s face, but Bucky wasn’t surprised. Steve was equally as good at reading him as Bucky was at deceiving Steve, so he’d never managed to pull the wool over his eyes completely. He just needed to convince him _enough._ Just enough that he wouldn’t tell Peter he shouldn’t fly out almost halfway across the country to see him.

He knew he’d managed it when Steve’s shoulders slumped, rubbing his temple like an exhausted parent who’d finally given in to their bossy child’s demands. It was normally the kind of expression that would make Bucky laugh, since he couldn’t help but feel amused by how seriously Steve took his responsibility to other people, but he didn’t dare laugh now, when Steve was deliberating on whether or not it was a _good idea_ for Bucky to have Peter in his life.

The bitterness storming in his gut surprised Bucky. He didn’t know he was capable of feeling that kind of hot, stomach-churning animosity towards his best friend - his only friend, really.

Finally, Steve breathed a reluctant sigh, sat up straighter and said, “Okay, Buck. If you really think it’s a good idea, I won’t say anything.” He fixed him with a flat look, trying his best to seem intimidating, though he should have known that face didn’t work on Bucky after all these years. “But I want you to be smart about this. Promise me that, at least.”

Normally, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, Bucky gave Steve the serious, respectful nod he knew the man was looking for and said, “I promise, Stevie, you don’t need to worry about Peter and me at all.”

Bucky had lied to Steve before, in the past.

But that was the first promise he’d ever broken.


	5. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW WARNING: IMPLIED/REFERENCED SEXUAL ASSAULT  
> It is left intentionally very vague and up to the reader what happened with the situation but I want to just leave a little warning here in case you don't wanna read that. If you wanna still read the chapter and skip that part then know it starts at "He hurt me in a way..." and ends at "couldn’t bear it." in the paragraph after it starts. It's not super essential so don't worry if you need to skip it!
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy this early update! Next one will be on the regular Monday schedule.

_Hi Bucky!_

_So, I talked to Steve and he gave me the forms I need to come see you! I’ve filled out everything and sent it in but it’s gonna be a while until I hear back. :( I found a college program that's a few months out a town over from Trenton, so if I can get the stars to align I’ll use that as my excuse to come by!! :) My dad said he wanted to do something nice for me after he got drunk and passed out at the charity event so hopefully that means I can get over there without a whole SWAT team following me around lol! Honestly though, I feel a little bad lying to him. I don’t like going behind his back, makes me feel like everything I do from that point on is wrong. I wish he knew how much seeing you means to me. I wish I could tell him about you. How much you mean to me._

Peter walked away from the letter for a few hours after opening up for that brief and raw moment. Later, he finished the letter talking about his normal topics, photography, technology, anything that just _felt_ good to tell Bucky. All his letters these days to Bucky ended up 6 pages back to front and needing one of those extra ounce 15 cent stamps. He kept a sheet of them for Bucky exclusively. All his other letters to inmates were just normal conversations now. A part of Peter whispered to him that to be even a little vulnerable with anyone else would be like cheating on Bucky. He honestly didn’t know if he could disagree.  
___  
  
 _Peter,_

_Can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you’ll be coming by to see me. Glad Stevie could help you, I’m pretty much useless when it comes to figuring out how to set up that sort of thing._

_You mean a lot to me as well. I can’t really comment on your dad, but the fact he’s not willing to see the heart you put into everything you do says a lot on its own. I wouldn’t worry about him. You’re an adult and you have a right to make your own decisions. If he doesn’t like it, well, you have just as much of a right to leave as anyone else. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that but don’t feel like you have to stop the things that make you happy because of him. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else, darling. Even more than just that, if you’re asking me. You have the most caring heart of anyone I’ve met and I don’t think he has a right to stomp that out just because it makes him uncomfortable._

Peter cried silently in his bed, hiccuping out the contents of the first half of the letter through mouthed syllables. Ignored the bruises on his shoulders that ached along the hand outline that formed their bounds. His skinned left knee and rug burned heels from where he’d rubbed it raw trying to slow down that fearful moment to buy time. Bloody knuckles and scrapes up his forearms from landing on and crushing his arms. A discarded note sat off to the side where he tried to put into words the dread that ate up the length of his spine. How the only thing he could think about was his dad, driven to alcohol in grief, and never seeing the gray eyes he’d been seeing in his dreams for months in the flesh. Every time he’d replayed the day in his head, Bucky was always there to stop it. The faceless man who found him instead was a murderer with neat cursive, whose hands were always big enough to swallow Peter whole. Those same hands catching Skip before he got away and making certain no one but Bucky ever touched Peter again. His crush was spiraling out of control and at this point, he was too fucking broken to care.  
___  
  
The penmanship was jittery at best, worse than it was the first time the world came crashing down around him. Blotches of ink blacking out mistakes littered the page far more than normal, stuttering, as though even in writing he couldn’t quite get the words out.

 _Something really bad happened, Bucky._ A whole sentence, scribbled out in black followed before words reappeared again. _Skip cornered me. I went to the library to tell them I couldn’t volunteer anymore and I don’t know why but he was there. I think he was waiting for me. Everything hurts. He slammed me on the ground and I didn’t catch myself right._ Black smudges and tear stains littered the lines below, causing the words to skip a few lines down to their next paragraph to avoid tearing holes through the thin paper.

_I was scared, I still am. I thought I was going to die Bucky, and all I could think about was you being alone. I didn’t want you to think I’d just stopped writing, I don’t know if Steve would have even found out until you’d had time to be mad at me for abandoning you._

_He hurt me in a way I don’t -_ scribbles marred the line - _know how to describe. It went beyond my body and into some unfamiliar part of me. He put his hands on me and all I could think about was that you’re the only one I want doing that. I remember screaming, I think I said your name because he laughed and said you weren’t coming. I didn’t want to admit he was right. I didn’t stop screaming and all I remember is my head hitting something hard and then I blacked out._

Lines crossed out, their words still visible, as though peaking through the fingers of a frightened child. _I don’t know what happened after that._ Messy, shaky lines leaving them almost unreadable as if frightened of their own suggestion. _I woke up, someone found me and had put a blanket over me. My pants were gone, everything hurt, the man wanted to call the police and I got scared. I ran away. I didn’t want anyone else to know what might have happened. I didn’t want them to tell me what did or did not happen after I passed out. It would have been everywhere in a week and I just -_ Smudged letters slid into each other as though smeared by a trembling hand- _couldn’t bear it._

 _I was so scared, and of all the things I could have worried about it was you. Bucky, I don’t want to disappear and leave you without knowing how much I care about you. I know the thing they always say is “never fall in love with an inmate” but I’m so far past that it hurts. If you don’t feel the same I understand._ Splatters, tears. _I know a few months doesn’t feel like a lot of time to fall for someone but I’m stupid and I did._

 _You don’t have to like me back. I know you’re fourteen years older than me, you don’t have to settle for a kid almost half your age._ The letters were almost illegible, betraying their writer’s true emotions. _I don’t want you to be with me out of pity or because you think I’ll abandon you, I couldn’t even if I wanted too. I’ll still visit you and talk to you, as long as you’ll have me. If you don’t believe me, check your email._

_With love,_

_Peter Stark  
___  
  
_The window gazing out over New York City was at his back as he sat down in front of the recording camera. It was night and a soft yellow light lit up the right side of Peter’s face. Even the lighting could not soften the puffy, red, tear stricken eyes and the bruises peppering his skin. His curls flattened in places and sticking out wildly in others. An aura of lingering distress settled in the bones on an eerie calm. A determined look set upon the youngest Stark’s face. It faltered when he caught sight of himself. 

_Is that… what I look like…? There is no way my dad bought that I fell down the stairs…_

Tony had panicked, pressing ice packs to his son’s aching skin and wrapping up what he could. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck and yet Tony hadn’t pushed, only hovered and forced him on bed rest until he deemed him fit to leave.

Shaking his head, he regained his composure. He was steel and iron on the outside, but his voice betrayed the underlying nervous hope he felt. “James Buchanan Barnes, of all the terrifying things that happened today, the idea of losing you was and _is_ the scariest.” A tremor slipped into his voice. “I’m in love with you and I just - I need to know where we stand with you knowing that. I can move on, I don’t want to hold onto you to the point you were almost my dying thought if I’m just pining and you would never want that. It hurts to say it, but if I need to stuff it down I can. Maybe I’m just being dramatic.” A lopsided smile with maybe a little too much teeth flashed by. “But I’ve had a dramatic day and this just seems like a good icing on top.”

He shifted, sighing as he held his face in his hands for a few brief seconds. “I’m gonna regret telling you, aren’t I?” Whispered, barely audible before his face resurfaced from his palms.

“I swear Bucky, if you weren’t at least flirting a little bit intentionally during all this, we’re going to need to have a serious talk about what constitutes a ‘normal’ conversation. Or maybe I’m just crazy.” Hands flew into the air and over his head in exasperation. “At this point, I think the answer might just be yes.”

With a heaving sigh, Peter leaned in closer to the camera, chin propped on his left hand as he gazed into the camera. “You’re a heart snatcher, Bucky Barnes. I’m starting to think they may have nabbed you for the wrong crime.” He smiled, dazzling white with the mischief of youth behind it. “Can’t believe I cried the whole letter just to end this teasing you. I was supposed to be serious.” He pursed his lips in an attempt to look serious, only to giggle when catching his own image on screen. Eventually dying down, a soft sense of peace settling over everything, reminding Peter how even just the thought of Bucky seemed to bring him back down to earth.

“This was kind of a shit show between the letter and video, not even mentioning the fuckfest of a day.” The joy slipped briefly before he was able to clutch back onto it. “I hope I can still come see you.” Settling his head into the crook of his own arm, content to imagine Bucky on the other side of the screen listening, talking to him even if he couldn’t hear it. “Love you Bucky, I’ll talk to you soon.”

With that, the video ended and as always, without thought, Peter sent the video onto its recipient. Unknowingly sealing his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read all comments and love seeing them even if I don't respond. Thank you for supporting our little fic!


	6. A Deal

“Barnes. You have a visitor.”

Bucky didn’t turn to look in the guard’s direction. He didn’t reply, remaining as outwardly cold as he’d been for the last nine days. He sat up from the bench and set his weights down without so much as a grunt, as silent and impersonal as death.

The guard tried to look tough as Bucky stood to his full height, towering over him. But there was a moldy white hue to the man’s skin that wasn’t usually there, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if the poor son of a bitch had drawn the short straw when they were trying to decide who to send to fetch him for his visitor. Bucky hadn’t exactly been in the warmest mood, these last couple of days. Even spending three days in solitary for breaking another inmate’s hand hadn’t fazed him.

There wasn’t much that could really faze him, anymore.

He followed the guard stoically through the exercise yard and into the building, ignoring the other inmates’ nervous glances towards him as he was led to the visitation room. Everyone had been on edge around him since he’d received Peter’s letter, and the only silver lining to that was that it got him here, to this moment.

It wasn’t Saturday. Which meant that whoever was sitting for him at that table, it sure as hell wasn’t Steve.

There was only one other person it could be.

Bucky didn’t recognize the man sitting alone. The room was empty, which was either a startling coincidence or, more likely, a very deliberate move on the man’s part. It told him all he needed to know about who he was, and Bucky walked over without a shred of hesitation and sat.

The man’s hands were casually folded in front of him, his fingers laced together. Cold blue eyes scrutinized him on a weathered face, topped with neatly-styled silver hair. The suit was the dead giveaway. The man's appearance screamed _politician_ all over. There was no mistaking that dehumanizing glare.

“You must be _the Winter Soldier,_ ” the man said, assessing him. “My name is Alexander Pierce.”

Bucky didn’t move. He’d been channeling all of his rage and helplessness for over a week now, and this was the moment to make it count. This guy, right here, was Bucky’s only shot at saving Peter.

He gave the man a single nod out of respect and said, “I’m guessing you're Rumlow’s boss.”

Pierce’s dead eyes bored into him. “Rumlow is one of my many valued employees. He told me you wanted to meet with me.”

“Funny. He told me the same thing,” Bucky said, keeping his face, his tone, absolutely neutral. The way he’d been trained. “About two years ago, when he first showed up. Came up to me and said, _let me know if you ever want out of this shithole, my boss would love to meet you._ I decided to take him up on his offer.”

“Because you want out of this ‘shithole,’ I assume,” Pierce said, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Your reputation precedes you, Soldier. Rumlow wasn’t lying when he said I was interested in meeting you. Your... _talent_ for this sort of work is an incredible asset, and as it just so happens, I have room for someone like you in my employ.” He flashed Bucky that soulless politician smile - a salesman and a murderer rolled into one. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that _is_ why you asked Rumlow to set this meeting, is it not?”

“It is,” Bucky agreed. He didn’t return the man’s smile, but Pierce didn’t seem offended. “I know you have a way of pulling strings around here,” he briefly gestured to the empty seats all around them, the lack of any security to be seen, “and that’s all I _need_ to know.”

Something shone in the other man’s eyes, Bucky recognized it right away. That spark, the look of a businessman playing his favorite game of chess.

“Why now?” he asked, resting his chin on his folded hands, as though lost in thought. “I told Rumlow to proposition you years ago. You never showed a lick of interest, judging from his reports. What changed to make you suddenly want a way out?”

Underneath the table, Bucky’s hands clenched until his nails dug deep wedges into the meat of his thighs.

He never _wanted_ to kill people. It wasn’t exactly his dream job growing up. It was never something he enjoyed, he just happened to be good at it. So good that it disturbed his commanding officers overseas, even though the entire reason they were _there_ was to kill people. He made a name for himself, even though he never meant to. The reputation stuck and it followed him across the sea from a warzone, sticking around long after the blood had dried.

But it was never something he wanted. The money was good, and when he took a contract, it was because the target was some mob goon or mafia dirtbag who had always done something worse themselves. He didn’t take contracts against innocent people or kids, but it wasn’t like he was trying to be some noble vigilante, either. He’d always remained a neutral party. A weapon who could be rented for the right price. That was all he was.

He didn’t _want_ to kill any of his targets any more than a grocery store clerk _wanted_ to mop up a carton of smashed eggs off the floor. It was just a job. There was never an emotional component to it: he was good at it, it paid well, he had his own boundaries and never crossed them. It was never personal. Because he never wanted to kill someone.

Until now.

Bucky met Pierce’s patient, calculating eyes and said, “There’s somebody I need to see.” He could tell by the slight raise in the other man’s brow that Pierce knew he wasn’t talking about a visit. “After that, whatever you want me to do, just name it.”

“Unfinished business?” Pierce said, almost like he was teasing him. “Or maybe the milkman’s been making one too many late-night stops at your homestead, is that it?”

A noncommittal, half-shrug was his only reply, before he remembered that he needed Pierce to agree to this. Pierce was his only chance. _Peter’s_ only chance. “Something like that.”

“Well, whatever it is you need to do, I’ll give you enough time to finish up before I start deploying you. My last... _clean-up supervisor_ turned out to be quite disappointing, and so I’ve been very careful in regards to his replacement. Sadly, that means the list of _messes_ I need amended has grown quite long.”

If Bucky wasn’t a Vet, a POW survivor and a trained assassin all rolled into one, the intensity of Alexander Pierce’s gaze might’ve unnerved him, then.

“I’ll be upfront and say that I’ve done my research on you, Soldier. I know the only reason you’re in this _shithole_ at all is because you show your clients a certain amount of loyalty.” Pierce’s stare was so keen it almost burned. “Understand that _that_ is what I’m purchasing here, not your talent. I will make arrangements to have you released and you will be compensated handsomely for your work, but above all else, I expect complete and absolute loyalty to me and my organization. If you disappoint me, you will die _dreaming_ it could’ve been in a place like this. Do you understand?”

Bucky lifted his arms, braced them against the tabletop as he leaned forwards, holding Pierce’s gaze. He didn’t blink, didn’t let a single shred of his real thoughts or feelings shine through - he couldn’t. This was for Peter. He had to do it for Peter.

Pierce’s eyes reminded him of winter in Siberia - just as cold and lethal.

His voice matched it ten-fold.

“I understand.” Then, because he knew Pierce was the type who got off on hearing it, he said, “You get me out that door so I can do what I need to do, you’ll earn my _unconditional_ loyalty. No complaints, no questions asked.”

The fervent look on the man’s face lingered, even as he leaned back in his chair and nodded his head, as if that was all he needed to hear. “Very well. I’ve made myself clear. The rest is up to you.” He stood from the table, dusted off the sleeves of his pristinely-cleaned jacket. “I will begin the process to have you acquitted immediately. You will hear from me soon.”

“How soon? The longer this takes, the longer I’ll need to find...my _mess._ ”

A smirk stretched across Pierce’s smug face. “Ah, a runner, is he?” he chuckled, straightening the rest of his suit. “I’ll have you out of here in three weeks. Then, the moment your business is settled, you’ll receive your first assignment. Do we have a deal, Soldier?”

He didn’t stretch his hand out like he was offering to shake on it, but Bucky stood from the table as if he had, looming over Pierce, who didn’t seem intimidated at all.

“Deal.”

Pierce nodded, said, “You will hear from me soon,” then turned and walked through the doors - the unmanned, _unlocked_ doors - and was gone.

—

The only respite from the absolute hell of the last nine days was the sound of Peter’s laughter.

There was nothing else like it. Nothing came close. Not even, bless his heart, the boy’s sobbing confession of falling in love with him. Bucky would’ve been overjoyed to hear it, normally. It would have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. But each time he read Peter’s tear-stain profession of love or re-watched the part of the video where Peter confidently, nervously said, _“I’m in love with you,”_ all he could think about, spiralling through his head was: _I wasn’t there._

It was cruel and bitter and unfair. A poisonous thorn on the blooming sunflower that was hearing Peter say he returned his feelings. Peter loved him, just like he loved Peter. And Bucky had failed him.

He should’ve listened to his gut, Steve be damned. He should have approached Rumlow months ago, after the first letter, after the first time he ever saw Peter’s face, like he wanted to. Now Peter had been hurt, because Bucky wasn’t there to take care of him, because he let a little thing like doubt get in his way.

Well. There was no doubt about anything, anymore. He loved Peter. Peter loved him.

And Skip Westcott was going to die screaming.

He would die for what he did to Peter. For the fear and pain and humiliation he inflicted on him, for daring to put his hands on what wasn’t his. He would die for what he did to Bucky - for poisoning the moment Peter confessed his love by filling it with guilt and rage and regret, when it should have been the happiest moment of his life. He would die for everything he’d done to both of them, and then Bucky was going to overwrite every memory of Skip Westcott in Peter’s head, until even the vaguest, most abstract thought was replaced with him.

He’d do that and hell of a lot more for the sound of that laughter.

It was his favorite part of the video. Peter’s love confession was beautiful and sweet, but he could hear the uncertainty in the boy’s quivering voice, his fear of rejection, his loss and helplessness. Bucky never wanted to hear the boy sound like that again, especially not when he said he loved him. He wanted _this,_ this Peter, on the screen of his tablet now: grinning, bubbly and beautiful and giggling so sweetly it made Bucky’s face hurt from smiling.

_ “Can’t believe I cried the whole letter just to end this teasing you. I was supposed to be serious,” _ Peter said on-screen for what must have been the fiftieth time. Bucky had lost track of how many times he’d hit rewind. Peter’s adorable, angelic laugh filtered into his ears through his headphones, and Bucky closed his eyes, basking in it. How he loved that sound. _That_ was what he wanted Peter’s love confession to sound like: the bell of Peter’s warm laughter ringing on the coattail of every word as he kissed each one into Bucky’s skin.

Bucky vowed, the first time they got to say it to each other in person, that was what it would sound like. It would be tender and soft and warm and full of all the joy Skip had stolen from them.

He’d make sure of it.

He left the audio from the video looping in his ears as he went back to focusing on his letter. This was the first time since the very first letter he ever wrote to Peter that he’d had to write multiple drafts. The first few attempts were...well. Even in his blinding rage, he could see the harm those letters might have done. He didn’t want Peter to misunderstand Bucky’s hatred of Skip for anger at himself. Bucky could _never_ be angry at Peter, not for something like this, but the boy was in a fragile state and Bucky was worried his furiously-scribbled words might give him the wrong idea.

But it had been nine days, which meant Peter was more than likely waiting for his reply any day now, or maybe even a few days ago. The longer he took, the more Peter’s doubt and anxiety might fester, and that was the last thing Bucky wanted. He just didn’t know how to say it right. He didn’t know how to strike the right tone on paper.

So...maybe he should take a page out of Peter’s book, instead.

Mind made up, Bucky brought his tablet to the kiosk that would allow him to send Peter a video. It took some time to figure out - he wasn’t exactly great with technology - but eventually he managed to get the correct application working.

He had to be a little bit more careful about spending money in here, now. He still had most of his fortune leftover from his previous contracts, and he’d need a good chunk of it to get a head start on his and Peter’s futures. He couldn’t just depend on Pierce. Who knew how long it would take to start seeing regular income from him, and in the meantime, Bucky would need to find them a place to live, secure their property and provide the essentials for Peter’s wellbeing.

Not to mention the funds required to hunt Skip down.

So, even though he didn’t want to, he forced himself to make the video quick. There was no shyness or hesitation, even though filming himself was pretty awkward as a concept. This was _Peter,_ so Bucky found himself acting as normal and confident as he would if the boy was right in front of him now.

Pretending he was actually worked pretty well.

“Hi, Pete,” he said, keeping his eyes on the camera lens. “I’m sorry if you’ve been sitting around waitin’ for my letter back. I, uh, got into a fight with another inmate and did some time in detention. Nothing to worry about, just a scrabble. Kind of a normal thing ‘round here.”

He paused, unsure of how to proceed. Speaking directly from the heart was probably best, but he loathed the thought of worrying Peter now, after everything.

“Sweetheart...what happened to you wasn’t your fault.” He cleared his throat, made his voice as gentle as he could. “I needed you to hear it from me, before I sent my letter. I sound pretty mad on paper, but it’s not you I’m mad at. I need you to know that.” He blinked, his gaze set on the lens of the tablet’s camera, pretending they were Peter’s big, honey-colored eyes. “And, I needed you to know that I’m in love with you. Completely and helplessly. You could do so much better than a sad old man like me and I...I’m so happy you’re mine, Pete. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to cup Peter’s face, pull him close and tell him as much in person. His whole body ached for it, like the very atoms of his cells were yearning for the same thing.

But he could say that now, couldn’t he? After all, Peter was finally  _his._

“I wish I was there with you,” he confessed, the gaping canyon in his chest yawning open at just the thought. “Wish I could pull you into my arms and hold you until the hurting stops. I’d keep you safe, Peter. Nobody else would ever be able to lay a hand on you again.”

He wanted to keep going, profess every thought, feeling and intention he had to the boy on the other side of this video, but the red numbers counting down in the corner of the screen reminded him he was on a time limit, so he sighed and gave the camera an apologetic look.

“This damn thing won’t let me send you the kind of message I want to, but, I’ll still be sending you a letter, so keep an eye out for that. Keep your chin up in the meantime, Peter. I’m here with you. I love you so much.” Unable to resist hinting at the surprise, he grinned and said, right before ending the video, “I’ll see you soon.”


	7. The Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 5k so strap in folks.

Bucky’s video was terrifying to open at first. He feared that Bucky, being the gentleman he was, would be breaking his heart as close to face to face as he could. He put off watching it until he was alone in his room, his dad spending the night at the lab, leaving the house empty. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the fact that this would be the first time he would ever hear Bucky’s voice. The thought only served to spike his anxiety. He opened the video after just staring at the little blue link for what felt like hours. 

“ _Hi Pete,”_ the sound of his voice had Peter melting, the tone so much softer than he expected. Where he anticipated gravel, there was only a gentle thrum that made him blush red up to his ears. He wanted to wrap himself snuggly up in the sound and let it lull him to sleep with sweet nothings; hoped he could really, honestly do it in the future if this went well. 

He let the voice soothe his anxiety and smiled to himself at the man in the video. The only photo he had seen of Bucky was a few years old. He thought he was beautiful then, but seeing him now… Bucky definitely was someone who got better with age. The long hair framing his face was almost fluffy, and all Peter wanted to do was run his fingers through it. Wanted to memorize the way every strand felt against his fingers and neck. Hoped Bucky wouldn’t reject him just so he could--

_“Sweetheart... what happened to you wasn’t your fault… It's not you I’m mad at. I need you to know that.”_

Those words had Peter clamming back up. His throat tightened. It was as if Bucky had read his mind. The last two weeks had been filled with constant guilt; it was just too easy to find fault in his own actions. If he’d just not gone, if he had just cried out for help as soon as he saw Skip, if he’d just moved a little faster - a sea of ‘what ifs’ that made him feel helpless and stranded. Worst of all was the fear that he’d somehow been soiled. The fear that this would turn Bucky away from him pressed into the back of his mind. To hear him not only exalt Peter of blame but feel angry on Peter’s _behalf..._ he felt like somehow he’d won the lottery with Bucky. 

The feeling was only amplified when Bucky loved him back.

A sob of relief left him. The tension he’d been holding onto for weeks poured out of him like a flood and he practically collapsed on his bed with it. Hearing that Bucky _loved_ him, it was a joy that couldn't be compared to anything. Nothing could measure up to the way his heart melted and flowed into his stomach to birth a shower of butterflies. The protective tone as his message drew to an end. Bucky wanting to hold Peter just as much as Peter wanted to be held. It was more than he ever could have asked for. He’d almost resigned himself to being the gushy one between them in spite of everything Bucky had done. To know Bucky may be equal to or more invested in this pulled at him. The “see you soon” at the end was the cherry on top, a clear indicator that their visit was still on, and that Bucky could (God, he hoped he could) hold him soon. He wanted Bucky to kiss the hurt away and hide him away from the world till he could truly feel human again. Now more than ever, he wished Bucky was on the outside, couldn’t imagine that liquid gold heart being capable of anything more than a well-placed threat. 

Bucky had never told Peter what happened and he never asked. Let himself believe it was an accident, because from the outside, that was how it looked. He doubted someone like Steve would align himself with someone capable of anything truly evil. No, to Peter, Bucky was a man done wrong by the system, a sweetheart from a bad spot. There were days he wondered if maybe Bucky wanted money; Stark wasn’t exactly a name without a past, but from their talks about Steve, he doubted Bucky was wanting for money. He’d never asked either, and Peter was fine and happy to believe his fantasy. After all, as much as he wanted Bucky with him, that would never happen, not before they were old and wrinkled. No one would stick around long enough to see that ripe old age if it was all for the money and really, part of Peter loved Bucky too much to care even if that was all it was. He would never admit it, but he would give everything he owned away even for the illusion of unconditional love. He was starved for it, wanted it bad enough he’d fallen in love with a man thousands of miles away who he could never physically be with outside of stolen touches during visits. New York was one of the last remaining states that had conjugal visits, but that meant nothing since Bucky wasn’t _in_ New York. 

Peter sighed and hit rewind on the video, took the time to study the way Bucky spoke and any little ticks he could parse out. He replayed it a few times before a very important question popped into the boy’s head. Did this make them boyfriends? He frowned. Boyfriends seemed too… childish. Bucky didn’t feel like a boyfriend. ‘Lover’ wasn’t quite right either, it felt like it lacked the emotional weight it needed and ‘partner’ sounded like a business relationship. He thought about just conceding to boyfriend, when an old term popped into his head, one he’d read in a Victorian novel years ago. Beau. Bucky was his beau. A little old fashioned, but fitting for the older man, too noble and proud to be anything less. He grinned, wondered if he should tell Bucky but decided, to hold onto it for later as a surprise. 

The matter settled, he scrounged up some old blankets, a cup of tea, and a plate of cookies before curling up in his bed with a tablet, listening to Bucky’s love for him until he fell asleep, curled up around the tablet as though it was the man himself.   
___

_White walls towered on every side of him, stretched up into the sky and disappearing into the strange maroon color overhead. Peter walked down a long hall, one that seemed to stretch infinitely forward, at the end of which was a door. The hall compressed suddenly; a sighing accordion that nearly knocked him off his feet. The door, suddenly in front of him, solid steel. Something whispered to him to go through. With his shoulder braced against it, he pushed until the metal squealed and thrusted forward into the new room. His heart jumped at the scene in front of him._

_A figure stood up gracefully from a chair in the center of the space. A field of wildflowers and grass swayed in the breeze all around, and the sky had turned a deep red. The figure didn’t move forward, instead stood looking at Peter until the fuzzy silhouette turned into something recognizable. A shout of joy left him and he tore through the field, the distance between them seemingly greater to run through than to see._

_Bucky opened his arms, a grin plastered to his lips. Caught Peter as he sailed through the air and spun him around with a laugh. “Hey Sweetheart,” he spoke, and the very air seemed to hang on each word. Peter couldn’t find words to describe how he felt, buried his head in Bucky’s neck as he sobbed. Felt the ghostly touch of fingers on the back of his head as they kept him pressed safely into the other’s body. An imaginary heat rolled off of Bucky. The startling sensation of being lowered made him want to cling closer. With his back pressed into the grass, Bucky settled his body on top. Kept Peter pinned to the ground underneath him, guarding his territory. Peter was forced out of the crick of Bucky’s neck as the older man buried his face in Peter’s curls and trailed kisses across the crown of his head, building a halo that was a secret to all but them. It was sweet, a moment he wanted to bundle up and hold close to his heart._

_Then everything plunged to shit._

_Suddenly there was growling, the sound rumbling out of Bucky’s chest. Peter tipped his head back, confused. The cuddling was broken as Bucky left his arms and lunged at something Peter was blind to in that moment. He cried out in alarm, rolled onto his belly and froze. Skip and Bucky were squaring off ahead of him. The lively field now plunged into a burned wasteland smothered in ash. The two men, monstrous apparitions that made Peter’s heart spike into his throat. Their snarls and snapping teeth created the image of warring dogs. They grappled each other, blood began to fly and Peter tried to cry out, in fear or warning, he didn’t know. The ground stopped him, sucking him into its ruined soil to hold him in place. The battle before him set to end when one painted a bloody river._

_The bodies eventually parted. Peter expected blood from both, but saw gashes only littering Skip’s form. The ground gave him his voice back in that moment, a sound of fear left him and as if just noticing, Skip turned to him. Bucky had looked, worry written on the muzzle of that mutated face. In that moment, rather than attack the force Bucky had proved himself to be, Skip lunged for Peter._

_A roar, feral and undeniably pissed, ripped through the land. Peter screamed as the shadow of death descended on him. Closed his eyes, bracing for a pain even worse than before. Instead, a splatter, warm and heavy hit his face. He did not need to see it to know what it was. Blood, thick and imbued with something evil. He wouldn’t look, scared to see the carnage. A wet nose prodded him. Licked at his face until nothing remained but clean skin. His eyes fluttered open, met with a wolf that he knew in his heart to be Bucky. A silent, shuddering cry spread through his body as he wrapped his arms around the dense neck of the beast. Fists balled in the fur of his monster, his protector. Tried to speak, tried to find -_

A phone ringing jolted Peter back into the waking world. Heaving breaths left him and he sat up, dazed. When the phone danced, skittering across his night stand a second time, he picked up. Disoriented, he almost didn’t realize someone was talking to him. 

“Is this Peter Stark?” 

“Yes, it is.” He rubbed at his face, trying to chase off the shadows of his dream. 

“Hello, this is Shannon from Dr. Strange’s office. Could you please confirm your birth date for me?” 

That woke him up. “Yeah, it’s August 10th, 2001.” 

The clicking of a keyboard along with a few muttered ‘alright's’ took up the air time for a few solid seconds. “Alright, looks like your STD screening came back negative on everything. You should be all good to go. Remember to still use protective devices like condoms to prevent any future issues, but for now, everything is looking great.”

Peter sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just give this number a call back if you need anything else.”

“Will do. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

The call ended with a click and he flopped backwards onto the bed with a sigh. He’d gone in for the test two days ago when he had mustered up the courage to leave the house. Marched down to the office and took it with no questions asked and left feeling jittery. He hadn’t found any… _evidence_ , but he wanted to be safe. Hearing it was negative lifted one of the many weights from his shoulder. He rolled over onto his belly, grabbed at his phone to send off a message to Bucky, hoping it would ease some of the other man’s anger. 

With a startling crash, the door to his room flew open. Peter shrieked, short and high. Tony stood in the doorway, grinning. 

“Hey kiddo, get dressed. We’re gonna go tear up the town before I give you up for your trip. Make sure to wear comfy shoes,” he said, in a way that left no room for argument. 

Peter rolled out of bed as his dad wandered off to let him get ready. He left to see Bucky in just four days. The letter and video he’d sent had taken their time to get to Bucky; mail was slow this time of year, and even videos had to be screened. He was glad to get them before he went. Still, he’d originally been shooting for another month out to use the college prep camp, but… after everything with Skip, he’d been scared of making it that long. He knew it was paranoid thinking, he doubted Skip would try to murder him truly, but that fear still lingered. 

So, to get out earlier, he lied. His visit approval had already been returned to him and the date set, but his original cover wasn’t going to work with the days he’d selected from the approved list. To make it work, he’d done a little editing, changed a few dates around and moved the location to the same city and days he needed before forwarding his ‘acceptance’ email to his dad. In some ways, he felt awful. He’d refused his dad’s offer to pay for everything, instead just accepting the plane ticket and hotel room (but only after a lot of guilt-tripping). Tony would likely still transfer money to his checking account, make sure he had several credit cards on him in case he needed it. He’d been surprised to hear that Peter was going to pay for his own food and in-city transport, but didn’t outwardly fight it. While he'd come to terms with the need to lie… the money was difficult. Even though a week trip at a four-star hotel would be pocket change for his dad, it still sat with him wrong. 

He threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a hoodie over it. Plain clothing in the hopes it would be a simple outing - it wasn’t like his dad had said much in terms of what they were actually doing. It would be nice to get out with him, though. They hadn’t had one-on-one time in well over a month, outside of breakfasts where Peter rambled about journals he’d read, and Tony nursed a cup of coffee after a long night at the lab. Peter didn’t get to talk about Bucky, which was sore for him as the man had carved out a sizable hole in his heart and thoughts. That made finding topics harder when Bucky was all he wanted to talk about, but they’d find something. As much as he hid from Tony these days, he still adored his dad and would listen to him bitch about some random intern all day if it made him happy and meant they got to spend time together. It seemed that as he got older, his dad had grown more distant, as if frightened by the changes, no longer comfortable in their dynamic. 

As he was putting on a pair of old sneakers, there was quick knock before _the Tony Stark_ walked into his room, wearing jeans and a _fucking Hawaiian print shirt._

“When did you buy that shirt?” Very clearly surprised by the choice for his suit-toting dad. Sure, at home it was basketball shorts and T-shirts, but to go out?

“Steve bought it for me. Thought it would be polite to wear it since he’ll be joining us.”

“Oh, Steve’s coming?” He tried not to sound disappointed. He liked Steve, beyond just their mutual relationships with Bucky, but he’d hoped for something different, and therein lied his problem. 

“Yeah, he’s opening his new exhibit tonight, so I invited him to a late lunch with us. We just gotta kill two hours and then he’ll catch up to us.” Tony turned to the mirror by his son’s door and studied his hair as Peter finished tying up his shoes. 

Perking up a little knowing that he would still get at least a little time just for them, Peter put a little extra bounce in his step as he stood up. Tapped the toes of his shoes against the floor, adjusting them. 

“Alright, let's bust out, aaannnddd, march!” Tony waited for Peter to exit first, grinning when Peter put in the effort to march in step as he left the room. An unforeseen but understood rhythm between them, they marched out of the building.  
___

Ice cream at Coney Island was a classic for a reason. Peter may have messed up that classic a little bit by getting strawberry funnel cake, but sometimes tradition is broken for good reason. Tony had a swirled cone pushing a foot tall in one hand while they strolled around the boardwalk. Peter watched the sea through the throngs of people, peaked through their heads to see the waves crashing offshore. The big city had its charm, but sometimes he wished they lived somewhere smaller, where the beaches weren’t crowded and he could just watch the ocean swell and crash in silence. 

He suddenly felt eyes on the back of his neck. His body drew up tight, ready to bolt. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he tried to catch any lookers. Nothing unusual popped out at him, but… he could feel a tingling at the base of his neck. Something wasn’t right. Maybe--

“Peter, come look at this!”

His dad’s voice ripped him from his thoughts. Whipping his head around, he spotted his dad by a gaudy stand filled with various bobbles and knick-knacks meant to draw in the tourists. He motioned for him and Peter obeyed, trying to shove the bad feeling away. 

Once he parked himself next to his father, a little keychain was placed in his hand. A spider, stained red and blue, trapped in a teardrop-shaped chunk of resin. The tiny, furry body, luminescent as it caught the light. 

“Thought you might find it cool.” His dad said, already handing the vendor money for the likely overpriced item. 

“It is… How did they keep it from floating?”

The vendor overheard him and launched into an explanation. Peter only caught the first few words before his eyes latched on to a little carved stone figure. The stocky body of a man, but with the head of a wolf. Of all the things on the table, it stood out in its quality. It was a little taller than his palm, yet the fur where the head and body connected had been masterfully carved, to the point that he almost thought if he touched it, it would give way, like the real thing. He picked it up, examined the muscular form. _This reminds me of Bucky and that weird dream._ The thought didn't consciously form in those words, but was as close as words could come to describing what he was thinking. 

“How much for this?” The words were blurted out, surprising Peter himself. 

“Twenty dollars.” 

Peter didn’t know if he wanted it bad enough for that amount. His mind focused more on making sure he kept all his money for seeing Bucky, and possibly sneaking some money onto Bucky’s account so he could buy himself the candy Peter wanted to bring him but couldn’t. He didn’t understand his own strange relationship with money; it certainly didn’t come from his dad, who threw money around like it was nothing. The same one currently passing over a twenty dollar bill. 

“Dad, you don’t have to do that! I really like the keychain, you don’t need to get me anything else,” he said with a nervous note to his voice. 

“It’s fine, kiddo. Not like I can’t afford it.” A smile, one that showed his love for his son, the only other way he knew to show love beyond money. 

“Thank you.” He clutched the little statue close. Imagined it to be a part of Bucky, almost like it was Tony’s blessing to be with him. 

“No problem, let’s get moving. We gotta beat Steve to lunch or we’re gonna be getting the worst puppy-dog eyes of our lives for leaving him waiting.” Peter could almost hear the eye roll, but beneath it was a touch of fondness. It had Peter briefly questioning the nature of his dad’s friendship with the other man, but they were quickly swept up into the madness of the swirling crowds of the boardwalk, and he forgot all about it.   
___

“I’ve got eyes on Winter’s Puppy.”

A man, clad in black, but blending in as just another person out for lunch on a Saturday, muttered into an earpiece. Sitting at a table on the other end of the room from the trio of men enjoying lunch. The youngest of them, all curls and innocent youth, played with his straw, listening to the other two as they spoke. Hands flying through the air as the blond became exasperated, the infamous Tony Stark laughing at him for it. 

“Seems harmless as a doe. Surprised that Winter’s such a cradle robber; kid’s gotta be barely legal. A Stark, no less. If you ever needed to take out two birds with one stone, pit Winter and the former Merchant of Death himself against each other over the kid.” He sipped his drink. Posing as a blind man, he hid behind sunglasses, able to stare without notice. “My money’s on Winter, but I think if Stark got the jump, he could do some damage. Ever thought about turning those two cannons on each other?”

“Too easy to trace it back to us. Not hard to figure out Soldier’s got a connection to the Stark kid. If Stark is found dead and the kid vanishes, or it’s found out the guy railing the kid’s ass is an acquitted murderer, that shit’ll come right back to him and, in turn, to us. I don’t think even God himself could cover up our hand in things - not the part about getting him out, at least. Can’t be too cocky, or we’ll lose one of the best in business right out the gates and waste the investment. Plus, Stark isn’t worth the time now that he’s staying out of weapons.” The new voice buzzed in the earpiece, quiet and deadly, despite being so close to Black’s eardrum. 

“Guess you’ve got a point. Probably would be hit-or-miss if the guy would even be willing to take out Daddy Dearest, anyway,” Black grumbled in defeat over his drink. 

“Exactly.”

“Why am I even watching him, then? I know taking out his puppy is a good threat and all, but if we do it, half the family’ll be dead in less than a week. HYDRA can’t take that kind of hit. We don’t have anyone who could even take him out at his worst.” 

“That’s exactly why we have to know what we can about the kid. Soldier is loyal, his track record proves it. He was the only one to go down for the hit that got him locked up, even though he had enough to take down a few dozen with him. I’m not worried about him. This new variable is where shit might get messy. I’ve got my suspicions that this was the catalyst that sent him to us. You don’t just wake up one day, ten years into your sentence to take an out from _two years ago_ without a motive. Something changed, and I think it’s the puppy.”

“So what if it is the puppy? Still stands that if we take him out, we’re fucked. Threats only work so well for so long.” Black watched the kid shove a forkful of pasta bows smothered in pesto into his mouth. He said something and the blond gives him a look, something Black can’t quite place. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. _Think about it!_ The beast never had a leash before. Everyone was playing with fire, no one could lock him down because he had nothing to protect. We can threaten the puppy, but only for so long before the fucker snaps and nukes us all. We make sure he can _keep_ the puppy, we become an asset in protecting what’s _his_.” The voice hissed. 

“How do we keep the puppy from being a problem, then?” Black spat right back. “We’re gonna get our asses _fried_ if we fuck this up. We’re playing with a loaded gun and justifying it 'cause the safety's on! How do we keep the _kid_ in line!? We have the reins on the ‘beast,’ as you put it, but if the puppy is the one with the lead, it means _nothing!_ ” Whispered exclamations, trying to keep anyone from noticing him talking to nothing. 

“I’m working on that. We’ve got time. Let’s just work on making Soldier feel like he’s got a safe nest to keep his prize in, _then_ we’ll worry about that. As much as I would love there to be an ‘accident,’ the fucker has been in the business longer than most. The top of the class is gonna be able to smell us poking at things like there's blood in the water. Just watch the fucking kid and leave the details to me.” 

“Whatever you say.” Black watched as the kid giggled at something Stark said. The older father practically preening after. Black tried to set aside his worries, just till the mission was over. Instead, it only nagged at him. If the Winter Soldier really was dragging himself out of forced retirement for this kid, then things were about to get messy. He just hoped he would live long enough to tell Pierce “I told you so.”  
___

Deep breaths. Fuck, just _breathe._

Peter was sitting in the waiting room, listening to the scuffle of feet as he counted the scratches in the tile. His suitcase was back at the hotel, along with the little statue he - well, his _dad_ \- had purchased earlier in the week. He’d started keeping it on him, a little reminder of Bucky, and a physical weight that kept him grounded in the fact that, if nothing else, Bucky was still in his corner at the end of the day. He’d honestly wanted to give it to Bucky, but it went against the rules; too easily turned into a weapon in the hands of one who knew how to wield it, however unlikely that was. 

The clock ticked away on the wall. He’d been waiting for 15 minutes. They’d said something about a delay, but honestly, the guards hadn’t exactly been the most friendly, leaving Peter afraid to ask for details. His anxiety was climbing with every second. What if he came all this way for nothing, and Bucky was refusing to meet him, waiting until he got the hint and left? What if Bucky was hurt and they weren’t saying anything? What if he had the wrong day, or something had gone wrong in the scheduling, and he was going to be kicked out in mere moments, having already missed his time? Like a dog chasing its tail, Peter’s mind fell into loops. Terrified that he had been a fool and was going to pay for it in more than just time and money, but with his _heart_. 

He was about to stand up, hide in the bathroom before he made a fool of himself and started crying. Always so easy to tears when it came to Bucky, whether happy or sad, that vulnerability something Bucky unknowingly held cradled in his fingers. He was halfway to standing, when his name rang out in the grungy waiting room. 

“Peter Stark!” 

He shot to his feet, earning a glare from the guard. 

“Follow me.” The lady jerked her head and disappeared into the hall she’d come from. She led him to a door - he’d already gone through security, was relieved when he only got a quick pat-down. She explained some rules - since he was considered a “friend” and Bucky was a violent offender, they would be meeting in the public area. There would be other families and visitors, so he needed to be quiet and avoid excessive PDA. He tried not to blush when she gave him a pointed look, even as she told him kissing and hugging were fine if brief. All Peter could think about was _kissing Bucky_ when she said that. He wondered how many chaste kisses he could sneak in before he left, if Bucky would even _want_ to kiss him. It didn’t feel real knowing he was moments away from even having the option. 

She took him in, and he immediately started scouting for Bucky, but saw no one. He was suddenly worried, but the guard led him to a table marked with the number 4 and told him to take a seat. 

“They’re bringing him in from the yard. We had a delay in getting a table open - a crazy girlfriend was losing her mind and we had to shut things down for a bit to deal with it.” The lady had no sympathy in her voice, merely gave him the reason before walking off. 

Peter folded his hands in his lap. He watched other families and loved ones talking to men in jumpsuits. _TRENTON STATE PEN._ was written in bold, boxy letters across their backs. Now, more jittery than ever, he watched the door on the opposing end from where he came from. Nearly jumped every time the door swung open, guards bracketing the inmates, before letting them wander off towards their tables. He was strung up, time crawled. 

Then the door opened. 

And there was Bucky.


	8. The Surprise

The sight of him took Bucky’s breath away.

There was no other word to describe the sight of Peter Stark except _divine._ The apprehension on the boy’s face melted into pleasant surprise when his warm-honey eyes landed on Bucky, like Bucky’s mere presence was enough to chase away any fear or doubt lingering in the young man’s mind. His cheeks flushed dusky pink and he abruptly stood from the visitor’s table, coltish as a fawn, despite the shy, eager grin that spread across his gorgeous face.

Bucky approached slowly, though he wanted to sprint across the room to draw Peter into his arms. He felt like he was moving under water, his body numb and heavy from the iron-thick blood rushing through his veins. He wouldn’t dare startle Peter, not now, not when the boy was finally within arms’ reach, and the only thing that could stop Bucky from getting his hands on him was if Peter himself turned and ran.

So he approached slowly, though every molasses step killed him. Peter’s gorgeous, sun-kissed complexion darkened with his blush every inch closer Bucky drew near, and it made something hot and primal stir in his gut. They hadn’t even spoken, yet. He hadn’t even touched him, and already, Peter looked weak in the knees.

When at last he reached the table, Peter looked about ready to faint. He smiled shyly up at him, and Bucky felt his heart burst open like a geyser, erupting with love for this boy. Peter was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. How could he really be here, of all places? What kind of profound misfortune led to this divine, ethereal creature ending up here, with him, in a place like this?

It didn’t really matter, he supposed. Whatever it was, Peter was never going to experience misfortune like that ever again.

Peter shuffled his feet as they stared at each other, his face red all the way up to his ears. “Um, hi,” he said at last, his smile so sweet it made liquid heat course through Bucky’s whole body.

Bucky smiled back at him, shifting into a smirk when the boy’s blush darkened. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said softly, softer than he’d ever spoken to anyone in his life. He reached out with his prosthetic arm, opened to the side to invite Peter in. The boy’s face brightened and he surged forward, and Bucky finally, _finally_ got his hands on him, crushing him tight against his chest, where he belonged.

Peter clung to him, just as desperate to be held by Bucky as Bucky was to hold him. Bucky could feel everything that went unsaid between them in that moment - Peter’s relief, his fear, his longing, his anxiety - all of it reverberated in the space between their bodies, their atoms vibrating with it. Bucky sighed and buried his face in the shorter man’s hair, squeezing him so tight he could feel Peter’s every rib beneath his fingers.

The guard who led him in made a rude sound in his throat, loud enough to startle Peter out of his arms, to Bucky’s resentment. Peter gave him an apologetic smile, taking a step back, until only Bucky’s hands remained on his body. Bucky didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t enough. But he knew they’d take Peter away from him if he caused a scene, so reluctantly, he let his hands fall from the boy’s waist so they could both take their seats.

“I didn’t think it’d be possible for you to be even more handsome in real life, but, um, wow. Sorry if I’m staring a lot. You’re, like... _really_ hot.”

That startled a laugh out of Bucky, and he reached across the table and took Peter’s much smaller hand, squeezing it tight as he gave the boy a reassuring smile. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Christ, baby, _look_ at you. I can’t believe you’re actually here. You are easily the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen in my entire damn life.”

“S-sweet-talker,” Peter said, almost mumbling. His face flushed in embarrassment, and it floored Bucky to think that someone as gorgeous as Peter somehow _wasn’t_ used to this kind of attention. How could the boy even show his face in public without being swarmed by everyone he met? If they had met in different circumstances, if Bucky had glimpsed him through a crowd on a busy city street, he wouldn’t have been able to rest until he told this angelic stranger just how strikingly beautiful he was.

But he could say it now, as much as he wanted.

So he did.

“You’re stunning.” Peter looked a little overwhelmed, but Bucky couldn’t bear to stop now. “Truly, sweetheart. Where the hell’d you come from, huh? How’d I get so damn lucky?”

“This isn’t fair,” Peter said. God, he was cute when he was flustered. “You’re - you’re doing it on purpose.”

Bucky grinned, wide and wolfish. “What am I doing, baby?”

Peter glanced around them, as if checking to make sure no one was listening, before he quietly murmured, “P-provoking me, when we’re surrounded by guards, and I can’t do anything to retaliate.”

Enraptured, Bucky leaned further across the table, greedily swallowing the timid expression on Peter’s face. “Oh?” he asked, unable to help it, equally unable to keep the victorious smile off his face. “And how would you ‘retaliate’ if we were alone, sweet thing?”

Peter made a face like he suddenly had something to prove, and Bucky had never wanted to kiss him more than he did in that moment.

“I’d crawl into your lap,” Peter said, quiet, but steadfastly determined, “and I’d kiss you ‘til I wiped that grin off your face.”

Beneath the table, Bucky’s cock pulsed inside the confines of his uniform. “Baby,” he said, his voice several octaves lower, suddenly, “If you think kissin’ on me is going to make me smile _less,_ you’ve got another thing coming.”

The boy shifted in his seat, plummeting Bucky’s mind even further into the gutter. Was Peter getting just as worked up as he was? The sudden return of his embarrassed flush told Bucky that he wasn’t the only one feeling a little bit _stimulated_ right now. Incredible that he could make Peter squirm in his seat like that with a single _sentence._ Just how sensitive was he, really? If he was this worked up over a flirty conversation, what would he be like when Bucky finally got to touch him?

Only two weeks until he found out.

“Can I tell you something?” Peter asked shyly, suddenly nervous to meet his eyes. Bucky squeezed his hand, and Peter licked his lips and made brief eye contact, confessing, “The, um. The guard told me that hugging and k-kissing is fine, if it’s brief.” His caramel-candy eyes dipped to Bucky’s mouth, then hurriedly shot back up. “And now, that’s - that’s all I can think about.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his face sore from how wide his shit-eating grin was. _Christ,_ this kid. “Is that why you’re so red, sweetheart? You sitting there thinkin’ _inappropriate things_ in public?”

Peter whimpered. Bucky momentarily worried that if his face got any redder, his head would pop. “It’s your fault,” he mumbled.

“Mm. I think we’re both at fault, doll,” Bucky said, shamelessly lowering his gaze to Peter’s perfect, pink mouth. “‘Cause I haven’t stopped thinking about kissin’ you since the first time I saw your face.”

“Well, um.” Peter glanced at the guard across the room, who was shamelessly watching them. “What are you waiting for?”

Grinning, Bucky pulled Peter in by his hand, his own trailing up the boy’s arm, past his elbow and his shoulder, till it found its place at the back of Peter’s neck, where he held him tight. Peter was such a slight thing, he had to stand to lean over the table far enough, but Bucky was gentle as he brought him in, his grip firm. Peter’s breath hitched just before their lips touched, and Bucky groaned and swallowed the boy’s sharp intake of breath, as chaste as he could possibly be, given how badly he wanted to utterly _devour_ Peter.

It was too short, but other than that, it was the perfect first kiss. Peter was soft and sweet and warm and tasted heavenly, better than Bucky ever could have hoped, like even the enzymes in his spit had been hand-chosen by God himself to perfectly match Bucky’s taste buds, like they were soulmates on a molecular level.

Bucky only pulled away because he knew they’d be separated if he didn’t, and any slip-ups on his record now might interfere with the exoneration date Pierce had set. That couldn’t happen, no matter what, no matter how divine Peter tasted, or how sinful the protesting whine he made was when they pulled apart, which went straight to Bucky’s cock.

He let his hand release the boy’s neck as Peter sat back in his chair, breathless. God, he was sensitive; Peter looked absolutely _wrecked,_ and from only a single kiss that had been so prudish it almost could’ve been familial. Bucky couldn’t keep the wicked grin from his face - Peter was flushed and panting from merely pressing their lips together like a couple of fifth-graders. He was going to be _ruined_ when Bucky finally got to do the things he wanted.

And God, he wanted that, too. To _ruin_ Peter. To bestow such incredible, mind-blowing pleasure on him that he couldn’t handle it, that he broke down, trusting Bucky implicitly to put him together again afterwards. And Bucky would, of course. Tenderly, lovingly, just like Peter deserved. He’d meticulously build him back up, piece by piece, as devout as a worshipper, until he made Peter whole again.

So that he could ruin him all over again.

As soon as Skip was dead, Bucky vowed to devote his entire life to doing just that.

“Wow,” Peter said, gazing at Bucky like he’d hung the sun in the sky. “That - that was - that was incredible, Bucky, you’re so - you’re such a good kisser.”

He tried not to laugh - really, he did - but a fond chuckle escaped before he could stop it, tickled absolutely pink by the frankly star-struck look on Peter’s innocent face.

“Sweetheart,” he promised darkly, very pointedly looking the boy up and down. “You ain’t seen _nothin’_ yet.”

Peter sighed, like Bucky had just said the most dreamily romantic thing he’d ever heard. “I love your accent,” he said, apparently surprising himself, because his eyes widened and he immediately added: “I, um, I’ve always really liked Brooklyn, it really feels like it’s a completely separate city, and uh, the people there are really charming, you know? It’s got such a great community, at least it seems like it does, I’ve only been there a few times - my dad doesn’t really like it when I, um, wander far.”

“And here you are,” Bucky teased, soaking up the sight of Peter’s sweet little smile, “six-hundred miles away from home, kissin’ convicts in a high-security prison.”

The boy’s smile widened, chasing away all traces of guilt, to Bucky’s relief. He didn’t want Peter to be thinking of his father - or anyone else, for that matter. Not right now, not when they were finally together for the very first time. After all, the only thing on Bucky’s mind in that moment was Peter. It was only fair that the reverse be true, too.

“What can I say?” Peter joked, giving him a little shrug. “I guess even nerds like me can be wild and dangerous sometimes, right?”

“Speaking of nerds,” Bucky said, smiling affectionately, “How is your lab work going?”

That simple question had the exact effect Bucky was hoping it would. Peter’s hyperactivity was sometimes legible in his letters, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Once Bucky got him going about his projects, Peter was off like a greyhound - so excited to talk about everything that he bolted from one topic to the next.

It was endearing, even if Bucky was really only knowledgeable enough to absorb ten percent of it. Peter got so _excited_ about his interests, and Bucky loved that. He wanted to know everything Peter liked. He wanted to know what made him happy, what got his blood pumping, what made that clever mind race. He’d spied glimpses of it in their letters. But seeing it in person was almost a religious experience.

Peter talked about his work, for a while, spurred on by questions Bucky was sometimes able to edge in between his excited rambling. He talked about things he was working on for school, things he was working on by himself, things he was working on with his dad - and eventually, things he hoped to be working on, in the future.

It gave Bucky a rare and fleeting moment of doubt - Peter was obviously accustomed to a certain standard of living, and while he knew Pierce was going to pay him well for his services, he doubted he’d ever be able to afford the kind of high-tech lab Peter was used to. Could Peter really be happy working away in a layman’s laboratory for the rest of his life?

If he couldn’t, would Bucky be able to accept that?

As covertly as possible, Bucky steered the conversation away from lab work and towards things he had a little bit of a stronger grasp on. Peter was happy enough to talk about his photography hobby as well, describing the portfolio he’d thrown together of some of his best shots, trying to put the pictures into words as best he could.

This, Bucky knew, was a much safer pastime. And it was something he could help with, sort of. He hadn’t decided where he and Peter were going to live just yet, but he knew that it would be beautiful, wherever it was. He’d make sure of it. Peter would never have to miss photographing birds in Central Park, not if their home was on the edge of a forest somewhere, somewhere remote and pristine, completely secluded.

Bucky could hang birdfeeders to attract birds to the windows, so Peter would have something to photograph without leaving the safety of their home. And a dark room was easy enough to build - much easier than a replica of Tony Stark’s lab, anyway. He could even buy Peter a telescope, and one of those fancy cameras for photographing entire galaxies. It was something he could help Peter do, to show him how much he cared, how much he valued Peter’s interests.

And it was safe. Safer than the machinery mishaps and chemical burns of a lab, anyway.

Time seemed to fly by as they talked, way too fast for Bucky’s liking. As much as he was looking forward to being released, to getting his revenge on Skip and starting his life with Peter, he wanted to freeze in this moment, unwilling to let it go. Peter was _here,_ with him, smiling and laughing and letting Bucky hold his hand the entire time they talked. Once this was over, Bucky would have to be _without_ this physical contact, without this bliss, for an entire fourteen days until he was released.

Sure, they’d see each other twice more before Peter went back to New York, but Bucky wouldn’t be able to touch him, not through three solid inches of bulletproof glass, speaking through a phone. He wouldn’t have _this,_ the warmth of Peter’s hand in his, the ability to pull him in, hug him, kiss him.

And the thought of that was torture. He didn’t ever want to let Peter go, not for a moment. How could he, now that he knew what _having_ him felt like? How right it was? How perfect? It was more than Bucky ever dared hope for, and more than he deserved, he knew that. But Peter was here and he loved him back, so who could blame Bucky for holding on to him for all he was worth?

Besides, Peter seemed to share his sentiments. As the hour of their visit ticked by, Peter began glancing up at the clock on the wall more and more, his expression growing increasingly dour each time. They were running out of time; in a few short minutes, Peter would be escorted out, and it would be another two full weeks before they’d be able to touch each other again.

And poor Peter, he was under the impression it would be even _longer._

Well. Bucky could fix that.

Sighing, Peter slouched down in his seat, looking every bit the sullen teenager boys his age had every right to be. “This sucks,” he said quietly, glancing up at Bucky with his big, heartbroken eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to leave me either, baby.” He tried to give Peter a reassuring smile, but he could feel the excitement bleeding into his expression. “But it’s alright. It won’t be for long. I’ll see you again in two days. And after that - ”

Peter grimaced. “Yeah, um, about that…I don’t know when I’ll be able to fly out again. It’s not like I can use the same excuse twice, and my dad would know something’s up if I started making regular trips to Michigan, s-so - ”

“You have a point,” Bucky said, pretending he was thinking it over. “So I guess I’ll just have to come see you, instead.”

Peter’s expression fell. “What?”

Grinning, Bucky lifted Peter’s hand from the table, held it tight as he kissed the back of it. “I said, I’ll just have to come see you, instead.”

Confusion muddled Peter’s face. Bucky could practically see the gears turning in his head. “You mean, like - like a day trip? Like the kind they allow for funerals and stuff? I thought, um, I thought they didn’t allow those for…”

“I’m not talking about a day trip, sweetheart.” He kissed the boy’s hand again. “I’m talking about my release.”

Peter’s eyes went so wide, Bucky could see every fleck of gold in his honey-colored irises. “Your - your _what?”_

“I’m being exonerated,” Bucky said, and smiled at the shocked look on the boy’s face. “In two weeks. The witness statement that the jury condemned me on has been invalidated. They’ve thrown it out. My case is being reviewed, and with no other evidence available, I’ll be found not guilty after the fact and released. My...lawyer, has already scheduled my release date. The rest is just performance, at this point.”

The shocked look remained for half a second longer, and then was swallowed by the widest, most overjoyed smile Bucky had ever seen. “Bucky!” Peter exclaimed, earning a sharp glare from the guard, but neither of them cared. “That’s…! I don’t even know what to - that’s amazing! Oh my god! Bucky, I’m so happy for you!”

“Happy for _us,_ baby,” Bucky corrected, basking in the warmth of Peter’s joy. “You know what this means, right?”

He kissed the back of Peter’s hand again, then held it, tightly. Held it like he was making a vow, so Peter would listen, would know he was telling the truth.

“It means we can start our life together,” he said, pulling Peter as close as the table would allow. “Just you and me. I’ll find us a place. Give me a few days after they let me out of here, and I’ll come pick you up.”

The smile slipped off Peter’s face, and Bucky couldn’t totally tell what emotion replaced it. Peter looked like he didn’t understand, and that theory was proven when he furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “I...what do you mean?”

“I mean, once I find us a good place, we can start living together, Peter. Just you and me. I know exactly what I’m looking for, too - a nice farmhouse or heritage home on some land, something remote and peaceful. It’ll be fantastic. We can - ”

“Bucky - ”

“I know this doesn’t give you a lot of time, but I wanted to surprise you with the good news - ”

“Bucky, I - ”

“ - And you don’t have to worry about anything, sweetheart, just leave everything to me, okay? I’ve got it all planned - ”

“ _Bucky!”_

The shout momentarily startled him, and Bucky grew silent, watching the rapid rise and fall of Peter’s slim chest. Peter’s breath was shallow, his eyes wide, his hand had begun to perspire in Bucky’s grip, and then he said - 

“Bucky, I...I can’t come live with you.”

His heart came to a thundering halt in his chest. It was his turn to look shocked, this time. “...What?”

“I - don’t get me wrong, Bucky, I - you know I love you, this has been, like, one of the best days of my _entire_ life - you’re so caring and you make me feel so _wanted_ and you listen to me, and the thought of us having a house together sounds _amazing,_ seriously, it does, but - it’s just not possible, at least not in _two weeks_. I’m still in school, and my dad would never allow it, and I - I don’t really want to leave New York right now, you know? It’s just - I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. There’s just no way.”

“Peter,” Bucky tried, but then the guard approached their table, making a point of putting her hand on her taser.

“Peter Stark, your time’s up.”

“Okay,” Peter said, and then he was standing, pulling his hand from Bucky’s grip, _leaving -_

“Peter,” he begged.

“I’m really sorry, Bucky,” Peter was saying again - why did he keep saying that? “I’ll - I’ll see you in two days, okay? I promise. I love you - ”

Bucky stood to follow him, had every intention to chase him down, the guards be damned. “Peter!”

But then Peter was being led out of the room, the doors automatically locking as they shut behind him.


	9. Don't Run From Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the endnotes for some important info.

Alone in his hotel room was when Peter finally let himself break down. Didn’t even make it to the bed, just curled up on the cold tile in front of the door and sobbed. He’d been so fucking _happy_. He’d been able to touch Bucky, to hold his hand, hug him, _kiss him_. Then he’d shit the bed. Bucky was going to be released and instead of getting to be happy, all he could feel was guilt. Bucky wanted to get a house for _them_ , had spoken in terms of _we_ like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wanted to be with and around Peter. Then he’d gone and panicked. Thought of his dad and college, let reality hit him like a bulldozer. Got so jumbled up he flat out _lied_ about wanting to stay in New York, like he hadn’t been daydreaming of living somewhere quieter just days before this trip. God, _this trip._ It was only the first day. 

The tears carried on for a while until he was simply tapped dry. It took him a long time after that to peel himself off the floor. Why did his life have to be so fucking hard in the weirdest of ways? Even if he’d met Bucky on the street, it still would have been complicated. Peter just simply couldn’t think of a universe where his dad would be okay with him dating a man fourteen years older than him, let alone living with him. A thought hit him then. The way Bucky has spoken… promises of building a life with him, providing for him. So ready for Peter to agree that he’d skipped out on asking, but outside the heat of the moment brought the implications into razor-sharp focus.

“Was... Bucky proposing to me?” It slipped past his lips and vanished into the air of the empty room. At first, it filled him like a bubbling pot of warm sugar before suddenly burning. “Oh god, _oh god!”_ Had he just rejected Bucky?! 

He felt sick, too many conflicting emotions swirling in his gut, threatening to splatter themselves on the floor in front of him to view in full. He tried to swallow it down, got up and limped his way to the bed. His body felt like it was going to fall to pieces. His responses to Bucky’s earnest words made his heart break. Turned him down, not realizing it was more than a _fucking house._ He prayed he hadn’t fucked up, that this was fixable, that he was just reading too deep into things. Either way, one thing was true, that last glance at Bucky as he’d been taken away, saying _I love you_ like it would fix everything, had hurt Bucky. He wanted to go back, explain that he really _honest to god_ wanted what Bucky was offering. Wanted it so badly that his heart was trying to live it while his mind kept him planted in reality, the two at war as they tried to keep him safe in their own ways. The reality, though, was that he couldn’t, not without leaving his dad, his dad who needed him. 

Peter reached for his phone, clicked one of three numbers in his contact list and held it up to his ear. Burrowed under the blankets while it rang. Long minutes drawing by until a _click_ sounded. 

“ _You know who this is. I’m 35,000 feet in the air on my way to Las Vegas, so if this is business-related, call Pepper Potts. Otherwise, my phone will be off until the end of the week. Call me then if you need me._ ” His dad’s voice, followed by a familiar female voice asking him to leave a message. 

Peter’s throat clamped down. A few beats of silence before he was able to speak. “Hi, Dad,” he croaked. “It’s Peter, had a bit of a rough day today… I just wanted to hear your voice is all. Enjoy your trip.” _The one you never told me about._ He hung up before that last thought made its way into the recording, didn’t want to sound bitter. Ignored that it soured their day trip. Made it into just another one of his dad's normal city flings before he disappeared.

He burrowed face-down into his pillow, tried to think of a way to make things up to Bucky when a terrifying thought entered his mind. _What if he leaves me when he gets out?_ The fear of losing Bucky crippling him. Where before there had just been guilt in hurting Bucky, now stood the very real possibility that Bucky would move on. Who wouldn’t, when given the option of dozens of people who would be head over heels for someone like Bucky? Instead of waiting around for Peter, he could be with someone his age, someone who could build a life with him and welcome him into their family instead of having to hide away from Peter’s dad like some dirty secret. What could he offer Bucky that he couldn’t get somewhere else for less work? Nothing, he was a drowning man clinging to the edge of a lifeboat, convincing himself that he was valuable enough to be pulled back aboard. But fuck it, if he could live that fantasy, he would. 

He letshimself drift into dangerous waters. Thought about just how nice it would be to have a little house on the edge of a forest with Bucky. A garden in the backyard, fairy lights on the back porch where Peter could drink iced tea curled up against Bucky on warm summer nights. A rustic kitchen where Peter could learn how to bake, and even though he’d get a little soft in the middle from all the sweets, Bucky would love it, want to eat him up almost as much as the cookies cooling on the counter. A queen-sized bed that doesn’t let them have separate sides, so Peter always had an excuse to sleep under Bucky’s arm. Very, very dangerous. Siren songs that made him want to say yes, but dreams were always better than the reality. In his dreams, there wasn’t the guilt of hiding from his father, no heartbroken looks from Bucky, no second-guessing. He wished he could live in those dreams, and for a time, he did. Drifting off to sleep with a heart held together by threads. 

\---

The second day of his trip was spent in bed. Originally, he’d planned to take a short hike through the woods, taking pictures of the birds and plants not found in the bowels of New York. Instead, he’d woken up feeling heavy, like there was a rock sitting on his chest keeping him in place. Knew this feeling, an old hat of sorts. He just rolled over, tried to sleep it off. Succeeded most of this day, waking up only to use the bathroom and nibble on some crackers in his bag before crashing again. He wallowed in his sadness, living in it while he waited for his chance to make amends, to do better. Wished he’d kissed Bucky one last time before he’d been escorted out, feared that he didn’t enjoy what might have been his one and only time enough. The whole day simply bled into one void of time until his alarm pinged and suddenly, it was 9am, and he needed to get ready to see Bucky again, this time behind several inches of bulletproof glass. 

He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. Couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror before or after. Just ran quick fingers through his curls, put on deodorant, and got dressed. Could practically feel the eyes drilling through him before he stepped out the door with his phone. He didn’t look at anyone, sat silently in the back of his cab, and felt like he was finally snapping out of it when he set foot in the prison. It was a Wednesday morning so things were quiet for the most part. This building was detached from the actual prison itself, so its noise levels were deceptive, possibly in order to paint a better picture for any visitors who came through the door. 

Peter went through the metal detectors and pat-downs without much fuss. His phone had to be shoved into a little locker, because he forgot to leave it at the hotel, before he could be taken down to the more segregated area. It was cold, he pulled his hands into the sleeves of his sweater as he was sat down in a booth sectioned out with dividers, the phone attached to the left-hand wall. This guard was much kinder than the one on Monday, he wiped down the phone in front of Peter with a baby wipe and gave him a kind smile. He returned it, could feel the pull of the skin under his puffy eyes, knew he must've looked pitiful but it was a truthful reflection of what he felt on the inside. The guard left, wandered off a bit to help another stray visitor, leaving Peter alone.

Bucky was brought out with less fanfare. It felt like he was suddenly just _there_ , no time-slowing moment, but Bucky was still just as handsome as that first day. This time, his hair was pulled up into a bun, still managing to look tough which was how Peter imagined he got away with the hairstyle among so many men. His expression was carefully neutral, which scared Peter more than anything else. He could feel Bucky trying to get a read on him, watched his eyes as they scanned the sad sight before him. Peter picked up the phone with trembling hands, watched as Bucky mirrored him without dropping eye contact. 

Peter struggled to speak, looking like a fish drowning in air as he tried to figure out what to say. Bucky didn’t try to speak, clearly waiting in order to understand the mood the conversation was going to take. He sobbed, loud enough to startle himself to but still remarkably quiet within the small booth. 

“Bucky - Bucky,” he gasped, wanted to kick himself for falling apart so quickly. “I love you.” _Please don’t leave me_ , hung unspoken in the space between them, transferred past the thick glass.

Instantly, Bucky softened, made soft shushing sounds as he pressed his hand to the glass. Peter didn’t hesitate, nearly slapping the glass as he pressed his smaller hand against it. 

“Hey sugar, breathe, it’s okay. I’m here.” Even through the crackling of the phone, Bucky’s voice came out soft, sweet in a way Peter selfishly prayed was only for him. 

Still, Peter wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he didn’t get out what he needed to. “I wasn’t trying to reject you, not in a million years. I didn’t realize that it - it was a _vow.”_ The look on Bucky’s face told Peter that the other man understood _exactly_ what he meant by ‘vow.' “I can live without you, but I _don’t want to,_ Bucky. I don’t care about New York, but I - I need you to work with me. I want this, but it’s not easy, fuck, nothing in my life is.” He couldn’t help the wet laugh that left him. “I don’t want to lose you.” A hiccup cut through the middle of a sob. 

“I’m not leavin’ baby, I’d _never_ leave you, you hear me?” His fingers curled like he was trying to squeeze Peter’s hand through the glass. “You’re stuck with me, sugar.”

He wiped his face on his shoulder, not wanting to take his hand off the glass. “Promise?” 

He couldn’t read the expression that passed over Bucky’s face. There was something… primal about it. “Promise, Peter.”

There was a beat of silence between them, before Peter smiled, twinkling like a star with joy. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

Bucky chuckled. “Soon, honey, but don’t be surprised to see me climbing up the walls waitin’.” 

He ignored the implications of ‘soon.' It brought back to light all the complicated elements of their relationship. He didn’t want to hurt Bucky by bringing up the fact that what would happen when Bucky was out was still filled with a lot of what-if's and possibly more red tape then they had dealt with thus far. So, he didn’t say anything. 

“You’re so fast in springin’ back to a bubblin’ little imp, darlin’. Makes me wonder if you’ve got a cooldown timer in there, seems like you just can’t be sad for long.”

“Only with you.” Peter bit his traitorous tongue for that slip. 

_That_ look again. Paired with a shit-eating grin. Peter was quick to change subjects after that. Tried to get Bucky to talk more about himself for once, but it always led back to Peter. While Bucky had commented on his 'bounce back,' he was still drained. Was slower to get excited, not reaching a fraction of where he had been Monday. Bucky seemed to notice and finally took pity on him, holding up the conversation on his own. Instead of details about himself, though, it was all sweet and loving sentiments. 

“So pretty, I could just eat you up, baby. I can see you gettin’ sleepy. Don’t pass out on me now. Wish I could feel you again, run my fingers over your sides and just feel how small you are. You’re just so tiny, darlin’, you do things to me. Wanna feel every part of you. When I hugged you I could feel your ribs, I want to do it again. Wanna trace them and know you’re not shiverin’ from the cold, but from the way I make you feel.”

It was so soothing. Now that the stress was no longer fueling him, yesterday’s toll was catching up with him. Peter’s eyes slipped closed at some point, left him dozing in his seat as he listened to the sweet-nothings Bucky told him. The tone he used was a few octaves lower than normal, felt like something special and only for him. Wished he could record this and fall asleep to it every night. 

“...Or maybe a nice gazebo, brown with climbin’ ivy all over it. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, swimming in the sea of Bucky’s voice. Felt like he was being dragged further under when Bucky somehow managed to get his pitch even lower. 

“You’re _mine,_ baby. I’ll tear apart heaven and hell to make sure of it.” There was something dark in the tone, a subtle detail that Peter didn’t pick up on in his drifting state. He could swear though that it was just a dream, too strange to be real.

He must have fallen asleep, because suddenly, there was a hand jostling him awake. 

“Hey kiddo, your time’s up. Say goodbye before they take him back.” The guard from earlier gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, before walking away to give him time. 

Mortified that he had wasted this precious time with Bucky, he scrambled for the phone. Brought it up to his ear in time to catch part of Bucky’s rumbling laugh. 

“Even sweeter when you’re sleeping, love.” 

“I’m sorry! I totally wasted our time,” he pouted, disappointed in himself. 

“It’s alright, I certainly didn’t mind.” 

“I didn’t come 600 miles just to pass out in front of you.”

“Not the worst use of 600 miles I’ve ever seen. I love you, sweetheart. I’ll see you Friday, we got some things to talk about before you go.”

Peter’s heart spiked into his throat. “Oh? Like what?”

Bucky grinned, a face-splitting smile. “Well, you seemed on board with a gazebo in the garden of our house, so I think we need to look a little deeper once you’re fully awake.” A guard came and tapped Bucky’s shoulder. Only then did Peter realize Bucky had never taken his hand off the glass until that moment. “Gotta go, baby. Love you.”

“Wait, Bucky, I - I just want you to know something. Can I - can I call you my beau instead of my boyfriend?” Wanted to smack himself in the forehead for that stellar question. Bucky heard it, though; as he was forced to put the phone up, Peter watched him mouth ‘of course.' He mouthed back ‘I love you,' knew Bucky saw it as he was escorted out by the smile he shot him. Shivered that Bucky only broke eye contact when he was forced to disappear behind a wall. He didn’t know how to feel about the house conversation Bucky was intent on having, but... he seemed like he was teasing? Giving Peter a hard time after everything that had happened and he seemed so… happy about it. There couldn’t be much harm in talking about it, seeing that smile again would be worth it, even if it could never be. 

With the fate of Friday decided, he stood up and let himself be escorted out and away from Bucky. 

\---

Friday was there in a blink. He spent Thursday taking pictures of birds and plants he could email to Bucky later. Felt like he had barely done anything by the time his butt was back in the chair with that slab of glass in front of it. Bucky’s hair was down this time. It moved with his laugh and made Peter flush. Bucky wasted no time. Started talking about a house for them, a farmhouse or a heritage home like he’d talked about on Monday. Took charge in the idea, but would ask Peter about little things he wanted, drawing him into a single shared image, a dream for the both of them. 

“How do you feel about copper pots and pans? I think they’d look nice on a rack hanging about the island in the kitchen.” Bucky had already gotten Peter’s thoughts on the wall color and countertops. Things he said couldn’t be done right away, but would be plans for the future. 

“I - I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen copper pans before?” There were exactly two pans in the penthouse he and his dad lived in, one for eggs and one for bacon. 

“Seriously? We’ll have to change that, then.”

Peter wanted to ask why they were doing this. There was no way Bucky had the money to do this. He’d once said he’d worked as a janitor before, he wouldn’t have access to the kind of money for all this, but… in a way, that made this conversation safer, knowing it couldn’t happen, even on a technical level. 

“What are you thinkin’? I can hear the gears turning in there.”

Peter pinked, caught red-handed. “I was just thinking about… all this. It’s a lot to take in.”

Bucky gave him a sympathetic look. “I know, baby. Wish we had more time, but we should think about the basics before everything else. Maybe cookware color should be lower on the list.” He laughed. “Is there anything I should get before we move in?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t really know. I - I haven’t really thought about it?” Hoped that would get him out of having to give a true answer, of having to break his own heart any further, wanting some of the few things he couldn’t have. 

“Well, make sure you pack a bag when you get back to your dad’s. I don’t know how much we’re gonna be able to get out of before we need to get moving, and I don’t want you to leave anything we can’t replace behind.”

“Bucky - ”

“Time’s up, Barnes,” a faceless guard’s voice pittered in from the background. 

“Gotta go, I love you. I’ll see you soon.” 

“I love you too - ” They were already moving him away, forcing him to put the phone up. Peter could hear him saying ‘alright, alright’ just before the line went silent. Bucky winked at him before disappearing. Peter hoped it wasn’t the last time he saw him. 

He tried not to let his frustration show as he stood up and left the call room. He still had to get his bags together, he left for home first thing in the morning and needed to make sure -

Peter slammed into a solid wall of muscle and nearly fell backwards. Two hands reached out and caught him, just before he landed flat on his ass. 

“Woah there, seems someone has their head in the clouds.” A man in a suit with piercing eyes looked down at him. Removed his hands once Peter was steady.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.”

“It’s all good. Say, have I seen you before? You look familiar… Oh! You’re Stark’s kid.”

Peter felt his blood freeze. All color left his face. “O-oh?”

“Yeah, I met your old man at a gala a few years back. He seemed very… _focused,_ on an intern, to put it politely.” 

Peter was barely listening. He felt like he was gonna throw up. He’d been caught, and everything was going to blow up in his face in a matter of hours. He needed to do any damage control he could. “Oh? He tends to be a bit distracted at times with… those things.”

The man laughed, there was something off about the sound. “I’ll say. I wonder, though, what’s got you so far from the nest? Guy’s kind of infamous for his tight leash on you.”

People knew about that? “I’m just, uh, on a day trip here. I wanted to… to, uhm - ” Fuck, he was floundering here. 

“Hey, no need to explain to me, kid. Everyone needs to get out from under their parent’s iron thumb, especially you. I ain’t gonna say anything to him. Guy’s more interested in getting his dick wet than anything, anyway.”

Peter wanted to defend his dad, but he didn’t want to run the risk of this stranger changing his mind about ratting him out. “Can I ask who you are?”

“Sorry, where are my manners. Alexander Pierce, New York Senator. I was just coming down to speak with an inmate who has been campaigning for nationwide reform of the system. I may not be able to do much here, but if New York starts the conversation, it will certainly lead to improvement down the line.”

“Oh! That’s really good actually!” Peter could at least like him on that front. 

“Well, someone needs to do it. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be spending another night out here, would you?”

Peter didn’t like the way Senator Pierce looked at him. “I fly out tomorrow morning. I was just going to go back to my hotel and pack.” 

“How about I take you out to dinner? My treat, give you some extra good memories of my home state. I grew up here, you know.”

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t want to offend you, but… there is that whole thing about not going places with strangers, and all that.” Please god, let that excuse be good enough. 

“Ah, smart kid. Didn’t think of that. Here - ” He handed Peter a black card, the words pressed in silver foil. “If you change your mind, or need anything, just give me a call. I owe the man in your life a few things, and I honestly think you could use some of them as well.”

This conversation was getting strange in a way Peter couldn’t pinpoint. Pierce spoke in a way that… felt veiled, like there was a joke only he was in on. “Thank you.” He tucked the little card away. 

“No problem, kid.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter hated it. “Keep your chin up, and if you see any wolves, don’t run away.” Pierce locked eyes with him. That look drove a cold wedge into his joints, something that felt like a threat. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, before running down his arm, and pulling away completely. 

Peter was thrown off entirely. Wanted to ask what he meant, but Pierce had slithered away down the hall, not bothering to look back at Peter. 

Something was off about that man, something that told him Pierce’s card would be ‘lost’ before he made it back to the hotel. He left the prison, not wanting to experience anything else like that for a long time. 

\---

Pierce watched the little blinking red dot on his phone as it traveled through Trenton. He was one step closer to getting The Winter Soldier, _The Wolf,_ leashed. Taming a wild animal was futile, but trust was all he needed. The location of its prize was step one. Next was somewhere secure, somewhere that would let the beast unwind. Somewhere that his prize could be locked away, safe, secure.

Now that was the easy part. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to an emergency, there may not be a chapter next week. Because of the private nature of the emergency, I'm not going to say what happened but please be patient with us during this time. Everything needs to be settled and okay on this end first before we worry about additional chapters. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled program by May at the latest.


	10. The Way I Promised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lived bitch

Taking his first steps as a free man should’ve been enough.

It should have been enough for him, considering the fact that only a few short months ago, he was convinced he was never going to see the outside of that prison again. He should have been relieved - overjoyed, even - to be granted his freedom, even with all the strings Pierce had pulled to give it to him. This should have been one of the happiest moments of his life.

But all he could think about was how empty his hands were, how the space beside him had nothing there to fill it. How Peter’s spot was currently vacant, and the only thing that could change that, the object of his affections, was six hundred miles away, waiting for him.

And how, before he could find Peter, before he could put him where he belonged, he had to get through Pierce, and then find Skip.

Pierce was waiting for him when he stepped out of the building, parked in a featureless black car with tinted back windows. Bucky climbed in, declined when Pierce offered him a glass of scotch from the alcohol compartment behind the driver’s seat.

“Suit yourself,” Pierce said, reclining and taking a long sip from his own glass. “So. How does it feel to be a free man?”

“Like I have a lot of work to do,” Bucky answered. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Don’t mention it.” Pierce took another sip of his scotch and eyed him over the rim of the glass. “Before I leave you to attend to your business, there’s something I want to show you.”

Bucky gave a soft grunt in reply and watched the world pass him outside the window. Maybe some part of him _was_ glad to be here, after all. But it was buried underneath the clawing desire to see Skip dead, the stab of hunger he felt for his boy, waiting for him in New York. “Where are we going?”

“The airport,” Pierce said, gazing out his own window. “And then, to your new home.”

—

An hour by plane and another hour by car, they pulled down a long, dirt driveway in the center of rural Indiana, and stopped in front of a house Bucky immediately loved.

It didn’t surprise him that Pierce knew, he probably had the entire prison bugged, probably screened Bucky and Peter’s letters and emails himself. He must have been listening, two weeks ago, somehow, when Bucky was describing their dream home to Peter.

The house looked a hundred years old. Some parts of it were clearly new, all the essentials - the roof, the windows, the doors. It was a redwood farmhouse smack dab in the middle of a dense evergreen forest, squatting on eight acres of field to offer the most premium privacy money could buy. The front yard was all farmland - they could have animals, if Peter wanted, a dog, chickens, maybe goats - and the backyard was miles and miles of dense forest, untouched and perfect.

There were a couple of other buildings on the property. A barn, a carport. A few tool sheds. Even a fully fenced-in dog run, the chain-link towering twelve feet high, like it was built to cage something much bigger than a dog.

They hardly walked the property line. Pierce said Bucky would have plenty of time to do that later, on his own, as he settled in.

“Why are you giving this to me?” he couldn’t help but ask, staring at the shorter, older man’s back suspiciously, trying to discern his motives.

“I like to know where my people are and that their basic needs are met. I wasn’t going to make you squat in a motel until you finished your first assignment, you know.”

He knew it was a ploy to buy his loyalty, but it didn’t bother him. He had no problem working for Pierce, for now. It would give him the income he needed to give Peter the life he deserved, it was work he knew, work he was good at. As long as Pierce didn’t get in his and Peter’s way, they would have a perfectly functional working relationship. If Pierce thought he had to sweeten the pot first, well, Bucky wasn’t about to stop him. Peter would be so happy when he saw their new home. It was beautiful. And it was  _theirs._

Having said that, there were certain things that seemed out of place, garish in the elegant design of the house. The fact that there were two front doors was the first thing that stood out to him. The first door, the exterior one to the outside world, was grand; thick, solid wood that even he would have trouble kicking down. The second, innermost door that provided access to the rest of the home was metal and thinner, and had a series of padlocks, solid iron with two-inch bolts, all of which had been installed on the wrong side of it.

Not designed to keep people out, then, but to keep someone  _in._

The fact that both doors required keys as _well_ as a ten-digit code punched into the keypad beside them only proved his theory. But Bucky held his tongue, waiting for the right moment to ask Pierce what the hell his game was. Instead, he took notice of all the not-so-subtle hints around the place that suggested Pierce intended to use - or intended _him_ to use - this place as a prison.

Like how every single window frame was reinforced steel, paned with two-inch thick bulletproof glass. Someone would have to drive a truck into the side of the house to break them, which meant they weren’t shattering from the inside, no matter how desperate someone was.

And how the kitchen had a large, floor-to-ceiling safe where a cabinet clearly used to be. The fact that it was in the kitchen of all places told Bucky it was meant for storing sharp objects - cooking utensils you didn’t want anyone else to have. There was another, smaller safe in the master bathroom, for a razor or something, Bucky assumed, or maybe even to store medication.

The rest of the inside was lavish, hardwood everything, from the floors to the cabinets to the bannisters and railings on the stairs. It was sparsely furnished, but that was okay. The basics would do until Peter was here to help decorate the rest of it. Bucky wanted him to have just as much say in the design as he did. After all, once Bucky started getting assignments, Peter would be the one spending the most time here.

His hunger spread as they walked through the house. He could picture them here, together. Happy. He could picture Peter standing in the newly-renovated kitchen, naked except for one of Bucky’s shirts, hanging off his tiny frame. He could picture the boy lounging on a luxurious sofa in front of the large patio windows, basking in the sunlight. And he could picture them making love, everywhere. Every inch of the house called to him. He could feel it in the air when he took a deep breath, like it was already charged with the power of their lovemaking.

He was on cloud nine at just the thought of it, felt higher than he had in over a decade. Peter would be here soon, with him, in their new home. Forever. Where Bucky could cherish him and keep him safe for the rest of their lives, and make sure no one could ever hurt him again, make sure the boy would want for nothing, would never want to leave. It would be perfect. Their home, despite the many oddities Pierce had affixed to it, was already perfect, and that had to be a good sign. It meant that everything else would go just as smoothly, just as flawless.

And then he saw the basement.

The basement was not like the rest of the house. There were no custom-made hardwood embellishments, no fancy railings on the stairs, no beautiful light fixtures in the ceiling. The door, for starters, was solid steel, just as padlocked and secured as the front. There were no windows or comforts of any kind. The floor was poured cement, layered with thick rubber mats that ran up the walls, completely soundproofed, easy to clean. There was a shallow-bowled utility sink and a squat toilet in the corner, the only part of the room the mats didn’t cover, where the cement could be sprayed down and sanitized. The recessed ceiling light was dim, the switch for it outside the basement door, in the hallway.

Bucky had spent the last ten years of his life in jail, but this room, this basement alone, was the most fortified prison he had ever seen.

This was not like the rest of the house, where someone could get away with pretending they were just very concerned about _safety._ This room was for containment. Every inch of it was meticulously constructed, almost baby-proofed. There was a slot at the bottom of the steel door for sliding plates of food into that only opened from the outside. The toilet and sink had been inlaid in the cement, so they couldn’t be lifted and used as weapons. Someone could be kept here for a very long time, alive, even perfectly healthy, if their captor was willing to give them proper care. They would go mad, if kept too long. This place was worse than solitary. But they would be safe.

His stomach twisted itself into knots.

“Like it?” Pierce asked, smiling like Bucky had asked for this. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I took the liberty of making certain...arrangements, so that you could enjoy the company of a guest without having to be _concerned_ about them while you’re on an assignment.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Please, it was the least I could do.” The man brushed imaginary dirt off his lapel and led Bucky out of the basement, towards a spacious dining room. “You said you had some business to take care of once you were released. A runner, if I recall correctly. Well, I didn’t want you to feel pressed for time - if it takes you too long to track him down, you can always relocate him here to finish the rest of your _business._ I do want you to enjoy yourself, you know.”

His jaw twinged as he clenched his teeth together. The thought of Skip _here,_ in their home, in the place Peter would soon be, even if it was only to suffer and die made him want to wring Pierce’s neck. Bucky didn’t need _time_ to make Skip pay for what he’d done. Bucky could be quick _and_ cruel. A voice, insidious in the back of his mind, told him Pierce had to know that. He had to know how extensive The Winter Soldier’s skill list was. He had to know Bucky would never need to bring Skip here, no matter which barren corner of the planet the man had fled to.

“But enough of that,” Pierce said, clapping his hands together like a teacher trying to garner his classroom’s attention, before directing Bucky’s gaze to a large, black duffel bag on the dining table. “I’ve brought you a few necessities.”

Bucky stepped forward when the man nodded towards the bag and slowly unzipped it. There was a stack of files - dossiers on various targets, his _assignments,_ clearly. There was also a cellphone, a laptop, and an envelope that, when he pulled it out and popped it open, he was surprised to find a shiny Bank of America debit card and a brand new Visa with his name engraved across the bottoms. He turned and gave Pierce a quizzical look, and the man smiled.

“Cash is always best for these sorts of arrangements,” Pierce said, “But the world has gotten much more technological while you’ve been away. You will need a bank account to access your funds. I’ve already set up a direct deposit from the _laundromat_ you are formally employed at. It’s an operation I own, of course. Your role as my _cleaning supervisor_ will look much better on your permanent record than ‘killer for hire,’ don’t you think?”

“Laundering money at a laundromat,” Bucky said, sliding the cards into his back pocket. “Cute.”

“Yes, well, we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. I’m sure _you_ can appreciate that.”

Bucky didn’t disagree. He couldn’t deny that Pierce had really pulled this whole thing together quite fastidiously in a very short amount of time. It was impressive, really, even though something about it got his hackles up.

“You’ll find my contact information in your phone, I expect you to call me once you’re ready to proceed with your first assignment. Everything you need to know about your upcoming _projects_ is in those files, it should make it easier to get started sooner rather than later. I’ve deposited fifty percent of your compensation into your account already to cover your travel and living expenses. Anything else you require, give me a call. I don’t think I need to explain just how eager we are to have you begin.”

Bucky grunted, but made a show of pocketing the phone, as well. “I’ll call you,” he said, simply to pacify the man more than anything. “As soon as I’ve done what I need to do, I’ll be ready.”

“Glad to hear it.” Pierce gave him an approving nod, then walked himself towards the front door. “I do look forward to our long and mutually beneficial relationship, Soldier.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his eyes glued to the flashing keypad beside the door as Pierce let himself out. “That makes two of us.”

—

The first thing he wanted to do was call Peter. He wanted that to be his first independent act of freedom, reaching out to his beloved without needing anyone’s permission, without needing to jump through hoops just to hear that beautiful voice.

But calling Peter directly was risky. Bucky knew the boy’s father kept a close eye on him, and he didn’t want to draw the attention of the Merchant of Death before he’d even gotten Peter out of the city. He could email him - he was sure he could figure out the laptop if he sat down and gave it some time - but he was pretty sure Stark would read Peter’s emails after the boy disappeared, and he couldn’t leave a trail. Plus, he didn’t want to just sit around anymore. He was done waiting. He wanted to  _act._

So if calling Peter was out of the question, the next best thing would be to just go see him.

But before that, there was still something he needed to do. He had one more loose end to wrap up. He would probably need a few days in New York to catch Peter alone, without his father or his bodyguards seeing them, and he’d need time to investigate Skip’s trail before he could follow him.

And mostly, he knew, it would only get worse the longer he waited.

He knew the number by heart. It rang twice, and then Steve’s voice answered the call. “Hello?”

Bucky didn’t let his anxiety bleed into his tone. Steve would be able to hear it right away. “Hey, Stevie.”

“ _...Bucky?”_ Steve asked, as if it could possibly be anyone else. Bucky’s voice was the most familiar thing in the world to him. “Why are you - or I guess I should say _how_ are you - calling me from Indiana? What’s going on?”

“They let me out, Steve,” Bucky said, bracing himself. “I’m calling from Indiana because I’m _in_ Indiana. I got out.”

The stunned silence on the other end of the line would have been laughable, normally. “You got out.”

“Yeah. I’ve been released.”

“Released,” Steve said, miming him. “Interesting, because when I saw you _two days ago_ , you were still ten years into an eighty-year-long sentence.”

“I’ve known about it for a while,” Bucky said, and it felt good to be honest with Steve again, even if it was for just a moment. “I just didn’t tell you.”

He could tell Steve didn’t know what to feel, and in the end, everything he felt just amalgamated into anger. Steve had always been like that; nothing made him throw a punch faster than being overwhelmed. “Buck, you aren’t making any sense. What the hell is going on here?”

“The witness who testified against me retracted his statement. The prosecution had no choice but to throw it out once it was deemed an act of perjury. Since it was his testament that convinced the jury, my case had to be re-examined, and with only circumstantial evidence against me, they had no choice but to exonerate me. I was released three hours ago.”

“The witness retracted his statement,” Steve said slowly, clearly not buying it, “the same witness who _witnessed_ you firing a bullet into his father. That witness. He woke up one day and decided to confess to perjury _why,_ exactly?”

“No idea, Steve. Maybe you should call and ask him.”

The phone was quiet, for a long, tense moment. Bucky didn’t say anything. He knew Steve needed a minute - this all was a lot to process. He would only make things worse if he tried to push.

He could hear the other man’s deliberate breaths through the phone. “Bucky, did you have something to do with this?”

The phone creaked as he clenched his prosthetic fist around it. He took a deep breath. He hated lying to Steve. But he _could,_ when he had to. He knew how. And this, without a doubt, was one of the times he had to.

“No, Steve. I don’t know what’s going on, either. Maybe somebody wanted me out. I’m gonna have my guard up, don’t worry, but I don’t have a clue what’s going on here anymore than you do.”

Relief was evident in Steve’s tone when he spoke next, and Bucky’s own chest swelled with it, too. “Christ, Bucky.” Steve laughed a little, sounding like he’d been holding his breath. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly? I’m pretty sure they bugged our table. Guys were watching me all the time, Stevie. They knew I met with you at the exact same time every Saturday. If they knew you were looking into it on the outside…”

Something clicked in Steve’s brain just then, because he cut in abruptly to say, “And wait, now you’re in Indiana? How the hell’d you get to Indiana if they just released you three hours ago?”

“I flew. My lawyer picked me up. He’s the one who told me my case was being re-examined and that the prosecution would never be able to uphold a conviction. I guess the state department’s trying to avoid a media debacle and a pricey lawsuit - even though my lawyer’s trying to talk me into it - so they gave me a “sorry we threw you in jail” farewell package. My lawyer was helping me reopen my bank account and found me a place to live. Indiana, ‘cause even with the buy-out we both know I can’t afford Brooklyn.”

“Hell,” Steve said, sighing loudly. Bucky hated how exhausted Steve sounded, because of him. “And here I was hoping I wouldn’t need to book any more flights.”

Bucky chuckled. That was the perfect segue he needed. “Yeah. I guess it’s my turn finally, huh? You up for a visitor?”

He could hear Steve smiling into the phone. “Just tell me where and when. I’ll pick you up.”

—

If he thought being in a prison six hundred miles away from Peter was bad, it was nothing compared to being across the street from him, unable to reach out or get the boy’s attention without getting seen by the armed, stout man reluctantly guarding him.

He wanted to call Peter’s name, see those gorgeous honey eyes light up as they caught sight of him, as Bucky walked right up to him and pulled him into his arms, twirling him, kissing him so deep and filthy that this whole fucking city saw that Peter was _his._ He was going to do it, he _was,_ as soon as the troll-like man standing next to Peter finally slunk back into the bowels of Stark Tower behind them.

Peter seemed to want that, too. He was chattering endlessly at his unamused bodyguard, but the way he kept subtly glancing over his shoulder, as if to confirm the man was still at his heels, told Bucky everything he needed to know. At one point, when the traffic died down just enough for Bucky to hear them, he caught the tail end of Peter saying, “Seriously Happy, you don’t have to stand out here with me, I’m only getting like, _two_ things.”

The boy was window-shopping at one of the bodegas lining the street, perusing merchandise that Bucky was too far away from to see. Eventually, something he said seemed to get through to his guard dog - _Happy_ \- because the man nodded and started walking away. Bucky hoped he was leaving, returning to Stark’s feet where he belonged, but the man only went a few doors down before disappearing inside a coffee shop.

It was all the opening Bucky needed.

It happened just like he fantasized it would. He jogged across the road, between slowing cars, calling Peter’s name before he reached the sidewalk. “Peter!”

The boy turned. He was confused, the poor, sweet thing, about who would be calling him in the middle of a busy street. But then his eyes found Bucky, and a look of surprise broke out over his face, wide and awed and fuck, Bucky loved him so much, he couldn’t keep the fantasy going. When he got close enough, he didn’t hand Peter a bouquet of flowers, didn’t twirl him in his arms and kiss the daylights out of him.

As soon as Peter was within reach, Bucky’s hands were on the side of his face, embracing him, dragging him in to meet him halfway as he devoured his mouth. Peter made a muffled sound and shivered in his arms. It wasn’t the romantic gesture Bucky had been planning, wasn’t sweet and loving, but it was still perfect, indescribably so. Peter whimpered into his mouth and Bucky kissed him like he was determined to make up for lost time. Someone hollered at them as they walked past, but Bucky didn’t give a fuck. He refused to break the kiss. He wanted Peter to feel what it meant, a promise of all the things to come.

Peter pulled away with a sharp gasp, face flushed and lips red as he gazed up at Bucky, dazed. He couldn’t help but smirk. It was pretty clear no one had ever kissed his baby like  _ that. _ “Hey, sweetheart.”

“H-hi,” Peter said, shy, so sweet it made him ache. Bucky leaned in and kissed him again, he couldn’t help it. He never wanted to stop kissing him.

“Missed you so much,” he moaned against his lips, hands on Peter’s waist and cheek, clutching him. “Missed you every minute of every day.”

“I – uhm, I missed you too,” Peter panted, the poor thing, Bucky hadn’t let him catch his breath. “We should – we, uh – should get off the street. Like, right now. My dad’s head of security is going to be back in like, ten seconds.”

“Mm, good plan.”

Bucky took Peter’s hand, interlocking their fingers as he started leading him through the throng of people. Peter, the adorable, wonderful boy he was, had trouble keeping up with Bucky’s great strides thanks to his much shorter legs, and clung to the back of his jacket, hanging on for dear life with his free hand.

He didn’t take them far, he knew Peter would get reprimanded if he strayed too far from his guard. He led him around the corner and ducked into a narrow alleyway, kicking aside a suspicious box of discarded junk to make sure Peter wouldn’t step on a used needle or something, and pulled the boy into his arms.

“God, baby, I’m so glad to see you,” he said, leaning down to mumble it into the shorter man’s fluffy head of curls. “This is all I’ve thought about for months. I can’t believe I finally get to hold you as much as I want.”

Peter sunk further into his arms, like some great weight had lifted off of him, and in its absence he needed Bucky’s strength. He still sounded somewhat out of it, like he couldn’t believe Bucky was really here. “I’m…I’m really glad, too,” he said, arms slowly looping around Bucky’s waist. “I was worried you wouldn’t come. After they let you out, I mean. I thought maybe, once you were able to go _anywhere,_ you’d change your mind about...this.”

“Never,” Bucky vowed. He pulled the boy back far enough that he could tilt his head up to lock their gazes together. “That’s _never_ going to happen. It’s like I told you, you’re it for me. You’re the only one I want. And you’re stuck with me,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss the sweet smile Peter gave him, “forever.”

Peter sighed into the kiss and wound his arms around his neck. It felt so good just to _hold_ him, this precious thing. He felt like his heart would burst trying to contain all the love he felt for Peter Stark.

When they pulled away, Bucky lowered his head to roll their foreheads together and said, “I can’t wait for you to see our new home, sweetheart.”

“...What?”

He pulled away just far enough that he could see the confused look on Peter’s face. He smiled, comforting, and pet his cheek. “My lawyer took some of the money the state gave me and purchased a house with it. In Indiana.” He leaned in and kissed the boy chastely, because he couldn’t help it, just had to have those lips again. “There are a few things we’ll need to change, and it barely has any furniture yet, but that’s alright, decorating it together will be fun. You’re going to love the property too baby, it’s so private, nobody will ever bother us.”

Peter’s face was a mix of emotions, Bucky couldn’t name them all. He was quiet for a moment, at a loss for words, before he finally asked, “When - when are you going back?”

Bucky frowned. “ _We,_ baby, you’re coming with me.” He moved both hands to cup the sides of Peter’s face, keeping that shy gaze on him. “I’m hoping it won’t be more than a week, but I’m not sure yet. I have a couple of things I need to take care of while I’m here, I may not get to see you much. The next time I come see you, it’ll be time to go, and we’ll need to be quick about leaving the city. You’re ready, right? You have a bag packed like I said?”

“I…” Peter started. Stopped. Hesitating. “I...I’m almost ready.”

Bucky smiled. “Good, baby, you should finish up as soon as possible, okay? You know we can’t risk anybody seeing you with me. We’ve gotta be ready to go as soon as I get back.”

The boy’s gaze dropped, like he was deep in thought. He was so beautiful, Bucky had no qualms about just standing there, in a filthy Manhattan alleyway, staring at him openly as that little mind raced.

“The thought of running away from home is…” Peter tried to say, his voice breaking. He swallowed and tried again, “It’s...it’s a lot, Bucky. I’m...what if I can’t do it?”

“Oh, sweetheart. Peter. Baby.” Bucky crushed him to his chest, held him so tight Peter couldn’t so much as twitch. “Hey, this is a big step, I know. I know it’s sudden. But you can write your dad letters, just like you did to me. My job is going to involve a lot of travel, all over the country. I can mail anything you want to him from different states.”

Peter sniffled, and Bucky stroked his hand through his wild curls, an attempt at taming them.

“Will it be scary? Yeah, at first, it’ll be a little scary. Our new home is a lot different than what you’re used to. But you aren’t going to be facing it alone. You’ll have me there with you, always, and I’m gonna take care of you, you hear me? I’m not gonna let anybody take you away.”

He stroked the nape of Peter’s neck and angled the boy’s face up to look at him, pressing soft kisses across his forehead as he went on.

“Sooner or later, your dad needs to accept that you’re an adult and you have a right to live your own life. You’re not being cruel to him, baby, you’re only being fair to yourself. We want to be together, and now that I’m a free man, we can be. Nobody can stop us. Not even your dad. _Nobody._ ”

The halo of gold surrounding Peter’s pupils glittered as he blinked his wide, puppy-dog eyes up at him. Bucky could drown in those limpid pools, those Bambi eyes that stoked the hunger deep within his gut.

“I’ve taken care of everything,” he promised him. “I have a plan. Just go home and pack your things and I promise, everything is going to be okay, you’ll see.”

Peter’s gaze flickered over his face, his eyebrows drawn together in worry, but he was clutching Bucky’s arms like he would collapse if he let go, so Bucky pulled him in closer, kissed the furrowed skin between his eyes until his frown eased away.

“Come with me,” he said, urging him. “Let me do it the way I promised I would, baby. Let me whisk you away to our own private little world and take care of you forever. Come on.”

A shaky breath exhaled against his neck. Peter’s eyes slipped closed, he gave one quick, jerky nod, said, “Okay,” and sealed both their fates.


	11. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this week! It's been pretty gogogo for the last few so enjoy this slower-paced one.

The door shut with a soft click behind him. Peter wanted to slide down into a puddle on the floor for conflicting reasons. He’d seen Bucky, wanted to flutter and preen under his kisses. He felt so small and safe, the strength in Bucky’s hands alone as they’d cradled his face made sparks crawl up his spine. Having to peel himself away from that warmth was harder than anything he’d ever done in his life.

And now it was only going to get harder.

In a week, his life was going to fall into uncertainty. Everything would be teetering on Bucky, and while he trusted him implicitly, the anxiety was sitting in the corner of his mind, watching. His whole life was going to change because of one choice. 

Then again, hadn’t he made that choice long before now?

An old gym bag was sitting under the bed, waiting for him. Pulling it out made things a bit more real. He was doing this. He was really and truly going to run away with Bucky.

He set the opened bag on his bed and began looking around his room, trying to figure out what was important enough to take up such precious real estate. Clothes. Clothes were an easy place to start. He opened his drawers and pulled out three sets of underwear and three pairs of socks. Went to the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans (he just needed to remember to wear another pair of them when he left, so he would have two). Threw in a pair of basketball shorts along with everything on his bed so he’d have something to sleep in. The shirts were hard, surprisingly hard, really. Part of him wanted to take something nice, be able to still _try_ to look nice for Bucky. The other part wanted to take his dad’s old shirts, the ones he had in his closet that were too big for him, the ones he slept in. In the end, he chose the old shirts. A decent button-up wasn’t hard to come by and the beat-up old tees meant too much to leave behind. He only grabbed three, folded them gently, and had them line the bottom of the bag. 

Toiletries were also easy. He threw the ziplock bag of travel-sized deodorant, toothpaste, and toothbrush from his trip into the bag with the rest of the clothes. With that, he’d already taken up a decent amount of room. He’d hit the essentials as best he could, and now he was staring down at his desk, messy and disorganized, but important. His computer and camera. A wave of sadness hit him. He couldn’t take his laptop, it was too easy to track, and with the uncertainty of how they were getting to Indiana, he didn’t want to use up the space only for his camera to get broken. It broke his heart in a way he wasn’t ready for. Three years of code, two years of pictures, all left behind. All for Bucky. 

He walked over, ran a hand carefully over the tops of both of them, trying to memorize them like he would never see anything like them again. It was very possible he might not. Bucky wasn’t specific about his new job, something Peter would need to remember to ask about. Peter wouldn’t be able to work for who knew how long and if they were both on Bucky’s mystery salary, it could be a long time before he could play with even a five-hundred dollar laptop. The camera was probably even farther off. Maybe he could get a cheap one, see if he could find something used with a few years still left in it. He stepped away from them, a physical and emotional distance. These were replaceable, Bucky wasn’t. 

He wished he was braver than he felt, just tried to think about packing as he went back to his closet and pulled out a small portfolio of his photos. It wasn’t as nice as the poster-sized one, but it was enough for him, helped ease the burn of losing his camera and all the digital versions on his computer. At least he could have the physicals. His mood improved a bit as he realized he would be able to show Bucky all the photos he wanted to, now that he didn’t need to worry about prison restrictions. It was a small mercy. Maybe once he got another camera, he could convince Bucky to let him get a few headshots. Maybe a nice photo of him at the kitchen table with his morning coffee. Hoped that Bucky remembered that Peter wanted a little table for two in the kitchen so they didn’t need to use the dining room. Hoped he remembered Peter liked the idea of a dark wood stain. Helped his heart unclench, thinking about all the soft domestic things they could do once they were out of New York.

Peter tucked the portfolio carefully into the bag. Turned back to his desk, shuffled some things around to see what else he may need. A flash of blue and red caught his eye. The spider keychain. He tucked that into the bag’s side pocket without a second thought. The wolf-headed man was next as he wrapped it in a pair of socks to keep it safe. 

A thought hit him, as he looked at his computer once more. He would need to wipe any mentions of Bucky and anything else to do with the prison system. Deciding to do that before he forgot, he cleared any mentions in his email as best he could, and deleted any suggestion or auto-fill of the websites he had visited. He tried not to think about the men he was leaving behind by vanishing, the penpals before Bucky who had stuck by him and were happy to talk his ear off given the chance. They would likely see him on the news in the common room, learn that he fell off the face of the earth and didn’t just abandon them. He wasn’t naive to the fact that his disappearance would make national headlines. The forgotten son of one of the richest men in the world vanishing into thin air would be all the media would find time to talk about. He truly wondered for how long he and Bucky could stay hidden. He may be able to save Bucky from prison by letting the world know he went willingly, but Tony would still reel him back in. Would have put up enough of a stink that Peter would be forced to go back to avoid embarrassing them both. Only serving to make him feel worse for leaving.

Once finished with the digital evidence, he crawled under his desk and pulled two large manila envelopes out from behind the dresser it was butted up against. One envelope was all Bucky’s, filled with all the letters from the last few months. The other envelope was bulging, holding multiple letters from multiple people. He sat under the desk for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with the letters. The smartest thing would be to destroy them all, or maybe take a few and trash the rest. But the idea of doing that, no matter how logical, hurt. Bucky may have his heart, but the others were his friends. Friends he may never get to talk to again. He wanted to bring all of them, fit them in his bag the best he could, but he had a feeling Bucky… Bucky might not like the other letters. Bucky had never asked if he wrote others, and he had never thought to tell him. While the idea hurt, it may be safer for the letters and all involved if he destroyed them.

He placed the larger envelope on his desk and went back to his bag, tucking the packet of Bucky’s letters carefully under the shirts at the bottom, in the hopes it wouldn’t get too bent. Maybe they weren’t all that special in their content, but it was the closest Peter had to first date pictures and flirty texts. The beginning of their relationship was marked by sadness and bad circumstance, but he still wanted to be able to look back at them. Wanted to reread Bucky’s first, second, third letters and beyond, compare them to where they find themselves in the future. 

After that, he really, truly tried to find anything else worth taking. Books were too clunky, he couldn’t take any technology in case it was tracked (he needed to remember to leave his phone), and beyond what he had already packed, there wasn’t much in terms of mementos. He was as good as done, which meant he had to deal with the letters. 

The envelope felt suddenly heavier when he picked it up again. The walk to the empty living room and the unlit fireplace felt like a death march. He paused by the switch which would light the fire, stood there for an eternity. The _click!_ sounded more akin to a gunshot, making him flinch. The fire was blue, hot and burning with propane. He would have to vacuum the soot out, just adding salt in the wound. He ripped the metal fastener off the envelope along with the glue strip. Set them aside to be thrown away on their own. It was silent, other than the crack and snap of the dancing flames. He wanted to run away from this. It felt more fate-sealing than running away. He couldn’t turn back from this. His dad would always be here, his stuff too, but this was irreplaceable. Not only symbolically - but literally - Peter was burning all ties with the few others he considered friends. It hurt, and yet he couldn’t imagine a world where he wouldn’t choose this, choose Bucky. 

The papers curled and burned as they met the flames. Peter slammed the protective doors closed harder than he meant to, white-knuckled their handles as he watched the black specks fly through the air. He wouldn’t cry, not now. Paper burned so fast. It melted into nothing far faster than the memories could. 

It was over in moments. The ash took no pity on him as it coated the inside of the glass, turned it black with their soot. After turning off the flames and letting it cool, it took twenty minutes to erase all evidence of what he’d done. It looked like his hands had survived a battlefield, darker than night. It marked him, felt fitting. 

Everything was clean before Tony got home except Peter’s conscience. He was perched on the couch, watching the flames dance in their newly-cleaned prison. Even Tony could feel something was off, the air rolled with guilt that for once wasn’t his own. 

“Hey kiddo, why the sour face?” Tony settled himself next to his son. The resemblance non-existent, but the aura of family still present. 

Peter was about to lie, say that his face wasn’t sour and nothing was wrong, but… this might be it. He stole a glance at his dad, tried to memorize this image. His dad, tired but present, willing and able to listen, possibly the last moment they’d truly have together for God knew how long. Tears began to well, his earlier promise not to cry shattered, as he once again realized another person he would have to burn in order to be with Bucky. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Come here.” Startled by the tears and unprepared but still a father, Tony pulled Peter close and held him. “It’s okay, Petey, I’m here.” Gently, he shushed his son as he held his trembling frame. “What’s wrong, honey?” Pet his curls, flattening his halo. 

“I- I-” He couldn’t tell the truth, not after everything. There was so much pain he could draw from, so much that was flooding him. The actions of Skip kept bobbing towards shore, slamming into him like a tidal wave when he realized there was nothing stopping him from revealing that any longer. His face would be plastered across national media whether he held it inside or not. Skip Westcott’s name would be written across the media, muttered like a swear amongst pedestrians. Pinned to Peter’s disappearance like it was certain. It would be headlining for weeks.

And it would lead his dad away from Bucky when he ran.

It nearly stalled him, even his heart seemed to pause. For once, he had an option that felt like a clear path. His dad would have a true monster to hunt and would be truly protecting Peter and others by stopping Skip. Peter wouldn’t have to deal with the media broadcasting his every step as his dad ripped Skip apart in court and attempted to find him. He would be safe and protected by Bucky, while his dad showed love one of the only ways he knew how: destruction. 

“D-Dad, I-” His tongue stumbled as he tried to force it out. Just because the path was clear didn’t mean it was an easy start. “S-something bad happened - really bad.”

Tony tensed, still as death itself. For once, Peter could see the dangerous edge to Tony Stark and hoped to never be on the other side of it. “What happened? Were you hurt?” His voice was controlled, made Peter’s bones cold. 

“Yes.”

“How?”

Peter couldn’t get the word out. 

Tony squeezed his son closer. “Physically?”

“Yes.”

Neither of them wanted to say it, but Tony knew that Peter wouldn’t be crying over a fistfight or a skinned knee. It had to be bad, _terrible,_ for Peter to admit weakness. “Peter, were you - ” Peter heard the click and grind his father’s teeth, “ - raped?”

The answering sob was too much for either of them. Peter heard the crack of his dad’s knuckles as they popped from the sudden white-knuckled clench. His own cries drowning them out. It was too raw, he wanted to take it back, but his tongue betrayed him. The little he knew of that horrible moment spilled from his lips. Every detail he could recall, he gave away. Skip’s name poured from his lips. His father had enough sense to record the audio of the confession, thought far enough ahead to save Peter the embarrassment of repeating it to an officer. When he’d finished turning his guts inside out for Tony to see, he was taken to his room. The anger in Tony was fiercely present, but he was kind as he wrapped Peter up in a blanket. Left and returned with hot cocoa and put a movie on for him. Neither of them spoke, both understood what came next.

Peter just hoped Bucky got there before heaven and hell broke loose on New York City.


	12. A Deal With the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!
> 
> This chapter contains mentions of torture, death, and a certain evil character facing vigilante justice. While the descriptions themselves are not explicit - nor happening on-screen - they might still be a little uncomfortable for people sensitive to those topics. Please use your discretion before reading on.

Bucky could still hear the screaming well over West Virginia’s state lines.

It rang through his ears like the chime of a bell, one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, second only to Peter’s darling laughter. He could still picture the scene perfectly when he closed his eyes, and if he wasn’t dead set on driving straight back to New York to fetch Peter as soon as possible, he’d spend the next week with his eyes shut so he could relive that wonderful memory over and over again.

Skip had known he was coming for him.

The man wasn’t very smart. He made every rookie mistake in the book, practically leaving a neon trail for Bucky to follow. He’d thought he was being clever - checking into a motel under a false name, switching his license plates, dyeing his hair - but Bucky could see the signs from a mile away, all the way from finding Skip’s plates on the back of some ninety-year-old woman’s Mazda, to spotting the traces of black hair dye clinging to the tiles in a Pennsylvania motel bathroom that some poor housekeeper hadn’t been able to fully scrub clean.

It was almost comical, the way Skip had balked when Bucky cornered him in his motel room in Missouri. The man didn’t stand a chance, his weak, weaselly body knocked unconscious after one solid hit, slumping over, perfect for Bucky to hogtie, gag and stuff into his trunk.

He spent time cleaning up the room. He made sure to gather all of Skip’s belongings, making it look like the man merely left without checking out, before throwing all of Skip’s possessions in a garbage bag in his backseat and driving to Kentucky.

Bucky never used the same dumping ground twice. Better for the police to try and hunt down a murderer than a serial killer - he was careful not to develop patterns. They’d have an easier time finding him if they knew they were searching for multiple bodies.

But there were still plenty of places he had never used, and one of them was the dry plains in Kentucky, smack-dab in the middle of the state and thirty miles from civilization in all directions. He’d need that, not only to remain unseen, but because he planned on Skip being loud.

In fact, he couldn’t wait for it.

Skip woke up and started screaming shortly after they left Missouri. The man’s voice grated, switching wildly back and forth between rage and desperate fear, but Bucky didn’t mind, even though, usually, that would’ve been enough to make him pull over and shoot the man between the eyes. No, this time, there were no thoughts in his mind of giving his target an easy death. Skip didn’t deserve it.

The man’s throat was raw, his voice hoarse by the time Bucky pulled onto the old, abandoned dirt road that would take them to his grave. He parked openly, knowing no one had driven down these roads in many, many years. Skip was whimpering in the trunk when Bucky walked by it, but he ignored him. There were preparations that still needed to be made before Skip saw his end.

Making multiple trips to the car and the spot he’d chosen sucked, but Bucky knew it had to be this way. Even knowing no one had driven this road in a long time, if, for some reason, someone _did,_ they’d definitely notice the tracks of Bucky’s tires trekking through the grass, and might be compelled to follow the trail. No, this had to be done by hand, all of it. It would be worth it in the end when, come tomorrow night, he’d be driving out of New York once again, Peter sitting safe and sound in the passenger seat.

So Bucky made multiple trips, hefting his supplies and tools to Skip’s grave without complaint. It took most of the night to dig the hole (it was much deeper than the ones he usually dug - had to be, for everything to fit), and the rest of it constructing the box with the lumber he’d brought, but finally, just as the sky began to change color, it was ready. He brought everything back to the car except for the wooden box he’d constructed, the shovel, the hammer, and the terrarium, and then popped open the trunk.

Immediately, Skip’s rankling screams filled the air, and Bucky almost smiled. He pulled the man from the trunk and decked him once across the face to silence him, before hefting him over his shoulder. Skip babbled and pleaded and kicked uselessly as they hiked over the plains, but Bucky was bigger, stronger, and wanted Skip dead much more than Skip wanted to live.

He threw the man on the ground when they reached the hole. Skip whined and jerked, begged for his life, for Tony Stark’s forgiveness. Bucky didn’t care that he was being mistaken for the Merchant of Death’s hitman - not yet, at least.

The first thing he did was untie Skip. The man brazenly, stupidly, tried to fight him, but he was no match for Bucky. One mistimed punch had Skip writhing on the ground, kicking at him desperately. Bucky simply stomped hard on the back of the man’s leg, snapping it at the knee, before delivering a blow hard enough to fracture the cartilage between Skip’s ribs, rendering him a sobbing, weakened lump of meat.

Still, Skip tried to claw and struggle as Bucky lifted him up high enough to toss him into the box, already sitting at the bottom of the deep hole he’d made. Skip cried out as he landed on his own belongings at the bottom of the box, and immediately began scrabbling to get out. But Bucky had built the walls of the box tall enough to tower over the man’s head, and his injured knee and ribs hindered him too much to climb it.

Bucky stalked around the edge of the hole to the terrarium waiting on the ground. “I made a deal with the devil for you, you know,” he said, watching Skip the way a wolf watches a caribou. “I don’t kill innocents. But I’m not naive enough to think my new employers won’t ask me to, eventually. They’re the type.”

He picked up the terrarium and drew closer, standing at the very edge, neck craned to stare down at Skip.

“I traded any last shred of humanity I might’ve had left so that I could be here, with you. So that I could find you and make you pay for what you did.”

“Please,” Skip begged, his face dirty with blood and grime. “Please, I’m sorry I touched him, oh God, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever - I won’t ever do it again, please - ”

“No, you won’t,” Bucky agreed. “But it’s too late for apologies, Westcott. You took something from me. You took the joy of being the first one to ever touch Peter Stark. You took away my chance of being the only man he’d ever be with. And you took those things from Peter, too. And more. And you’re about to learn exactly what that felt like for him.”

He held out the terrarium so Skip could see, watching as the man’s ashen skin paled to the color of moldy fruit.

“I wanted to beat you senseless,” he confessed. “I wanted to torture you, slowly, for hours, until there wasn’t a single inch of your body that wasn’t in agony. Thought about driving up these roads with you tied to the back of my car by your dick, until one of those potholes finally ripped it off. I thought about using knives, explosives, acid, you name it. I just wanted it to _hurt._ ”

“ _Please_ \- ”

“But see, I couldn’t afford to leave little bits and pieces of you scattered all over the place. Not even the blood from beating you within an inch of your life. So I had to come up with something…cleaner.”

He shook the terrarium, enraging its occupants. “I made a call to an old friend of mine in California. He’s a bit of an ant enthusiast. Even calls himself the _Ant Man_. I asked him which of his ants had the most painful bite. Turns out, these guys - _bullet ants_ \- not only have the most painful sting of all ants, but their sting is described as _the worst pain known to humans._ And yet - to my pleasant surprise - they’re not deadly. They just hurt beyond comprehension. Scott didn’t want to sell me any, but then I told him it was to get revenge on the man who raped my boy, and he made an exception. I think it’s fitting.”

“Please God, oh my God, no, you can’t - please! Please, I’ll do anything!” Skip fell to his ass, unable to kneel on his shattered knee. “Please! Not this! Anything but this!”

“The ants aren’t going to kill you, Westcott,” Bucky said calmly. “No - the lack of water is going to kill you first. That won’t be for a few days, though, so you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted with your new friends.”

Skip’s hysteric, sobbing pleas were momentarily drowned out as Bucky shook the terrarium again, getting the ants good and angry.

“You’re going to die in the dark, Skip, with no light, hardly any air, hungry, thirsty, and in the worst pain known to mankind. You’re going to die terrified, _helpless,_ and in agony, just like how Peter felt when you assaulted him. This is what you deserve for _touching what’s mine!”_

He popped the lid open and upended the terrarium, shaking the ants out of their container and onto Skip’s flailing body. The man made the mistake of thrashing, encouraging the ants to attack, and moments later, his screams rang high into the heavens, so loud even God must’ve heard him.

Bucky listened to them as he put the lid on the box and nailed it down, before he started filling the hole one shovelful of dirt at a time. Skip’s screams of pain slowly got dimmer as the hole filled, and by the time the morning sun was shining brightly overhead, the ground was flat and there was no echo of them to be heard.

But Bucky could still hear them as he packed up his car and drove away, well over West Virginia’s state lines.

—

He caught Peter on his way home from school, which was now, apparently, the only time the boy was allowed to be without his security guards.

He had to wait until Peter walked by an alley where no CCTV cams could see them, but finally, the moment came. “Peter,” he gently called, reaching out as the boy walked past. “Over here, baby.”

Peter turned and saw him, confusion melting away into surprise. “Bucky!” He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then joined him in the alleyway. “I, um, didn’t know if you’d be showing up today or not. Did you...did you get your business done?”

“I did,” Bucky said, pulling Peter into his arms, trailing his lips over the boy’s forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m here to pick you up, doll.”

A shiver ran down Peter’s spine - Bucky could feel through the layers of their clothes. He held the boy tighter, bending slightly so he could pull him into a kiss. Peter made a soft little gasp - so fucking sweet, his precious, shy boy - and reached up to grab the lapels of Bucky’s jacket, holding on as Bucky took him by the small of his back and leaned him backwards, almost dipping him.

He was maybe a little too...animalistic, as he devoured Peter’s mouth. The adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours hadn’t yet ebbed away, and with no other outlet to be found, Peter just had to do. The boy’s lips were petal-soft and pliant under his own, his smaller tongue too timid to entangle with Bucky’s the way he craved, but that was alright. Bucky had no problem taking the lead. He kissed the boy like he was trying to splice their DNA together, like he needed it to be hard, and brutal, and filthy so Peter would know just how fiercely he wanted him.

Peter eventually mewled and turned away, his face bright red and glowing. Bucky felt a sharp pull in his gut at the sight, and had to kiss him again, cupping Peter by the cheek to ensure the boy stayed put this time. Peter moaned wetly as Bucky’s tongue slipped between his lips again, and when Bucky’s hand moved from the boy’s lower back to his ass and pulled them flush together, he was delighted to feel how hard Peter’s was in his jeans.

“God, baby,” he growled, pulling away just far enough to get the words out. “I wanna suck you off right here. Wanna bend you over and make you writhe on my tongue, till everybody on the street can hear you squealin’.”

“ _Bucky,_ ” Peter gasped, wiggling in his hands. “I - oh God, I – we can’t, not here, someone will – -”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna take you home,” Bucky promised, silencing him with a slower, softer kiss. “Gonna carry you through the threshold like my pretty new bride and not let you leave our bed for the next week.” He smirked when Peter whimpered, and trailed his hands up from the boy’s ass to grab his hips, rocking Peter against him like a little doll. “That sound good to you, baby? Did that make your cock twitch inside those tight little jeans of yours?”

Peter trembled against him, his flushed face burning hot enough to fry an egg. “Bucky, please - ”

“You do like the sound of that, don’t you?” Bucky whispered, gently kissing him again, his lips feather-light compared to his hand on Peter’s hips, encouraging him to grind against his leg like a dog humping his favorite toy. “You like the thought of being my pillow princess? No responsibilities at all ‘cept laying there, all day long, while I dote on you and make you feel good? You want me to worship you like that, baby? Like the beautiful little angel you are?”

The boy held his jacket in a white-knuckled grip, shaking like a leaf, so sweet it made Bucky rock him harder against his leg, until he was keening. “ _Yes,_ Bucky, yes, want it, want it so bad, please - ”

“Okay.” Bucky gave him a quick peck, chaste and impartial, before pulling Peter upright and moving his hands up to the boy’s waist. He took a step back once they were both standing normally and Peter whined, loud and needy, as Bucky’s firm grip forced him to stop rutting against his leg. “Then I think you should go home, get your bag, and get into my car so we can do that. Don’t you think?”

Peter blinked at him with his big, brown eyes, his cheeks still aglow, chewing on his bottom lip like he was searching for something on Bucky’s face. Bucky smiled at him, and took his face in both of his hands, stroking his cheeks gently with the tips of his fingers until those gorgeous lashes fluttered.

“Come on, baby,” he urged, just like he had a week ago, and two weeks before that, and would for the rest of their lives. “Let me take you home. Let’s get out of here. Come on.”

The tension in Peter’s body receded, inch by inch, until he was putty in Bucky’s hands. He leaned into the warmth of Bucky’s flesh palm, his eyes falling shut, and nodded once, firm. “Okay,” he said, blinking his eyes open to meet Bucky’s own, determined. “Let’s go.”

—

They left just before midnight.

Bucky had so many abstract plans, so many whims, but in the end, he acted on none of them. He wanted to pull over on the side of the road once they left the city and have Peter right there, in the backseat, on the hood, in the field, didn’t matter, as long as it was the two of them under the stars. But Peter was clearly exhausted from the stress or maybe even the anxiety that came with leaving, so instead, Bucky wrapped him in his much-too-large jacket and told him to get some sleep, holding Peter’s hand and gently stroking it with his thumb as they drove long into the night.

The thoughts still came to him, though, and he didn’t fight them when they did.

Peter slept most of the night, occasionally waking up to ask where they were, what time it was, but he always fell back asleep after Bucky shushed him and started stroking his hand again. The boy was an angelic sight at his side, just like Bucky knew he would be, so beautiful and sweet, curled up like a cherub, swimming underneath Bucky’s jacket.

In the morning, he woke Peter up halfway through Ohio, and they stopped for breakfast so Bucky could down half a gallon of coffee.

He had the boy wait in the car as he ordered their food to go, not wanting to risk anyone seeing Peter and remembering what either of them looked like. Peter was a little sullen when Bucky got back, but only for a moment, before Bucky pulled him in by the back of his neck and kissed the bridge of his nose.

“What was that for?” Peter asked, smiling despite the way his nose crinkled.

“Because I can,” Bucky answered, smiling back and kissing the boy again, pecking him on the lips this time. “I can kiss you whenever I want, so you’d better believe I’m gonna be kissin’ you all the damn time, sweetheart.”

Giggling, Peter leaned further into his space and pressed their foreheads together with a content, quiet sigh. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

Bucky’s heart melted in his chest. Peter was so good - so painfully, undeniably _good._ He was the sweetest thing Bucky had ever laid eyes on, and it felt sacrilegious, almost, to be here with him, like he could never be worthy of that.

But it didn’t matter, because Peter was glad he was here. He wanted him. He loved him.

That was enough, for Bucky.

“I’m happy you’re here, too,” he said, fingers carding through Peter’s silky curls, massaging his scalp gently. “I love you so much, Peter. You love me too, don’t you, baby?”

Peter smiled, a playful glint shining in his eyes as he rolled his forehead against Bucky’s. “Hmm. Maybe,” he said coyly, his lips quirking up in a mischievous smirk. “Depends what kind of waffles you brought me.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and let him go, plopping the takeout bag in the boy’s lap. “Belgian with strawberries.”

“Then yes,” Peter said, all playfulness gone, his smile soft and genuine and fond. “I love you.”

—

Peter was a little more animated after they ate, and the rest of the drive was almost utopic, chatting and laughing as the sun shone down on them, their hands interwoven on the center console the whole time.

Just before noon, they turned onto their house’s long, private driveway, and Bucky got to watch Peter’s face slacken with awe as he saw their new home for the first time.

“Oh my gosh, Bucky, it’s _beautiful._ ”

Chuckling, Bucky raised Peter’s hand to his lips and kissed it, before parking the car. “I know. I’m glad you like it, baby. Just wait till you see the inside.”

A grin broke over Peter’s face, and he gave Bucky a playful look, before throwing the car door open. “Race you inside!”

“Hey!”

Peter laughed, loud and cheerful as he ran up the stairs to the front porch, narrowly managing to stop before he collided with the front door. Bucky was on his heels in an instant, bracketing him against the slab as he fit the key into the lock.

He’d already disabled the keypads on every door except the one to the basement. He had no intention of letting Peter see the inside of that one, it would be too hard to explain. Peter pushed the door open as soon as the lock clicked, barreling through the second door Bucky had intentionally left wide open, and came to a stop as the hallway opened up into the main living area, his eyes wide and astonished.

“ _Wow._ ”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, coming up behind him and pulling the boy into his arms, his back pressed to his chest. “Welcome home, Peter.”

Peter wrapped his small hands around Bucky’s forearms, letting him sway them gently from side to side as they embraced. Bucky kissed the back of his head, his hair, and nuzzled him possessively as the exhaustion of the last day finally caught up to him, knowing that they were finally home, finally safe, finally _together._

“Come lay down with me,” he said, hugging Peter tighter. “Just for a while. Just until I sleep off the drive. Then we can do the grand tour and unpack your things. Okay?”

Peter turned in his arms, tilting his head up to look at him, and Bucky couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him.

“Okay,” Peter said again, that soft, gentle voice, his eyes warm and just a little bit shiny. “That sounds good.”

Bucky took him by the hand and led him upstairs, into the large but hardly-furnished master bedroom. Peter’s attention was caught on everything but Bucky, until he laid down and pulled the boy into his arms, right where he was always meant to be. He cradled him protectively to his chest, loving how small Peter was curled up against his much larger body.

“I love you,” Bucky told him, needing to say it again, just one more time before the exhaustion pulled him into sleep.

Peter sighed and nestled into him, burying his face in his chest. “I love you too,” he said quietly, drifting off as Bucky held him tight.

It was such a beautiful thing to hear, it echoed in Bucky’s mind as he fell asleep, until it drowned out even the sound of Skip screaming.


	13. Baby I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look the rating has mysteriously changed to Explicit... 
> 
> This chapter is SUPER early this week because I'm gonna be out of town this weekend. We will return to our regularly scheduled program next week!

The first few moments of consciousness were soft. Everything from the bed below him to the hair nudging the fragile skin under his eye seemed to take on that quality. He just wanted to float in it. Peter turned his head further into Bucky’s chest as he tried to chase the feeling, only to be disappointed as his body pulled him forward into consciousness. He took a few moments to pout over it before carefully lifting his head up. 

Before anything else, he saw Bucky. His throat hitched closed as he felt like he was truly _seeing_ Bucky for the first time. The relaxed muscles of his face painted such a gentle image. They’d never had a moment where they truly just got to _be_. Seeing his beau, his Bucky, at peace made his heart settle in a way it never had before. This moment felt right in a way nothing else in his life ever had. It was coming home for the first time, the sudden realization that nowhere had ever been home, paired with the sappy joy of having found it made the whole thing surreal. He wanted to stay there in Bucky’s arms until their flesh rotted away and their bones powdered into dust. Wanted to curl up inside him and never leave. Knew in that moment that this was the right choice, that leaving would be something he wouldn’t survive. Bucky was it for him. 

When his bladder began to protest his plans of remaining in place for eternity he almost groaned, only stopping himself to prevent waking Bucky up. In fact, not waking up Bucky became his mission for a solid minute after that, as he slowly wiggled his way out of Bucky’s hold. It was slow going. The bed took pity on him and refrained from moaning as he moved. It took time, but he managed to slide away unnoticed. The bathroom sat through the wall opposing the bedroom. Seeing no other doors, he assumed the closet might be in there as well. That speculation was confirmed when, just past the inside of the door, there was an open room to the left, which appeared to be a bare closet. The bathroom was quiet and the tile cold, the abrupt end of the warmer carpet caused a chill to crawl up his spine. It was a nice little space, though different from what he was used to. The tub and shower were a bit strange to him. The tub was set in a base, decorated with a similar material to the countertop and tile, giving it a decent amount of ledge space around its edges to set things on. The shower was set into the wall, with a single glass pane that stopped halfway up the length of the tub. It seemed like such an odd design choice, had him staring for a moment before his bladder kicked up a fit and got him moving again.

He used the toilet, washed his hands, and was quick to leave after that. Stepping back into the master bedroom, his first instinct was to crawl back into bed with Bucky. In fact, he got halfway to the bed before the scant items in the room caught his eye. Other than the bed, there was a dresser and a chair. The dresser was what drew him off his course. The empty closet should have already told him what would be inside the dresser, yet he looked anyway. Barren, absolutely nothing. It… made him sad for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. He wanted to fix it. 

The chair drew his attention briefly away from the dresser (might as well explore, while he was already at it). It was a leather high back chair, something that would be in a study, could very well have been (and likely was) a piece that came with the property. It was clearly old, not in a bad way, but it was something that would need upkeep. 

He lost interest with the chair fairly quickly, his brain suddenly back on the dresser. He needed to change it. He needed it to reflect that someone lived here, that they lived here. He looked back at the bed, at Bucky. The keys to the car were by his head, off in a high corner on the mattress due to the lack of a nightstand and their need to get to sleep quickly. Quieter than the dead, he tiptoed towards the bed, smothered the keys in his hand so they wouldn’t jingle as he lifted them. Quickly made his exit, giddy, slipping out into the hallway and-

Suddenly, Peter was very aware that he was quite unfamiliar with the layout of the house. Glancing around, he was able to retrace his steps out towards the door. It was about four o’clock now, the air still sticky with heat as he descended the porch steps. His bag was still in the backseat along with Bucky’s. The bag felt lighter when he picked it up this time, yet he knew it was the same weight it had been before. It sunk in that even with all this house, all this space, Peter had brought with him the barebones of what he needed. He knew there was no way he really could have grabbed more without raising suspicion, but it still struck him. They were both truly starting over. There wasn’t much in the backseat in terms of Bucky’s things either, not compared to what a normal person would bring with them. It reminded him that Bucky was still a man who had left prison, one whose whole life for the last ten years had been relegated to a box. Steve likely would have held onto anything important from Bucky’s life before prison, but knowing Bucky, there probably wasn’t much. 

He took his duffel inside, promising to come back for Bucky’s things once he’d unpacked his own, relieved to be out of the heat as he walked into the cool house. It was dark, the lower temperature coming less from the AC and more that the house had been closed up before Bucky left to get him. The upper level was warmer, but not as bad as outside. The master’s curtains had been drawn, which was what let the two of them sleep for so long. 

Peter was quiet as he crept back into the room. He was surprised Bucky was still asleep, but he had been driving all night. Peter opted to let him rest, moved slowly and with barely a sound as he unzipped his bag (which he dragged back into the hallway, just to make sure any sound it did make wouldn't disturb Bucky). He took his toiletries to the bathroom, carefully setting everything out on the counter in a neat little array. They wouldn’t last terribly long, but they would need to go shopping soon anyway, they hadn’t picked up groceries on the way in and they probably wouldn’t be able to order takeout all the way out here. It was possible there were some pantry dried goods, but he doubted it with how quickly Bucky had left to get him. 

The clothes were easy, the amount he'd brought was small and already folded. He arranged the bottoms to one side and the tops to the other. Couldn’t help but frown when he noticed just how much empty space there was. Still, it did ease the ache inside of him that begged him to mark some part of the space as theirs. He set the portfolio of pictures in the center between the meager selection of clothing, the packet of letters on top of that. The trinkets he brought were carefully positioned on top of the dresser, the wolf-headed man watching over the little spider suspended in resin. 

He ran back downstairs to get Bucky’s stuff. He decided to check the trunk, but was confused when the thing didn’t open. He tugged on it, turned and wiggled the key in the lock. Nothing. It was sealed shut. Peter really hoped that there wasn’t anything important back there, he wasn’t sure if they could call a locksmith to open the thing. His dad would have discovered he was missing only a few minutes ago when Peter didn’t check in when he should have been back from school. His face would be plastered everywhere within the hour. Whether or not his dad knew he’d been gone for more than 24 hours wouldn’t matter. Tony Stark could have the New York Coast Guard out looking for him if he wanted, time meant nothing when Stark’s child was involved. His dad wouldn’t be able to tell he’d run away, he hadn’t taken his phone, keys, camera, or laptop. Even his wallet was sitting on his desk back at Stark Tower. They would immediately assume a kidnapping. Skip would be suspect number one and Peter hoped it stayed that way as long as possible. Still, it left them stranded on the car’s busted trunk. He’d see if Bucky could fix it later, and if not, well, they were shit out of luck. 

He went to the backseat and grabbed Bucky’s backpack and a box full of miscellaneous belongings. The plan was to go straight into the house with them, but Peter was nothing if not a bit easy to distract. Out along the tree line of the forest stood a deer. A doe, small and delicate looking, a marvel to a city boy like him. Peter moved around the car and onto the grass. The little thing popped her head up and watched him, her tail twitching. He stopped a few meters away from the car. They stared at each other. Two innocent beings unknowingly stepping foot onto the territory of a wolf. 

They both jumped when they heard the howl. 

The doe sprang away into the forest as Peter whipped around, Bucky standing on the porch staring at him, clearly bothered by something. 

“Bucky? Are you okay? You scared the deer away…”

“How’d you end up out here?”

Peter cocked his head. “I walked out the front door?”

“I meant, how did you not wake me up? I’m a light sleeper, shoulda been up as soon as you twitched.” He seemed bothered by the fact. 

“Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep. I came out here to get your stuff.” Peter held up the box. 

“Ah, I see,” Bucky said, visibly relaxing as he stepped off the porch and made his way over to Peter. 

Eager to be close to his beau, Peter met him halfway. Stole a kiss as Bucky took the box from his hands. Hummed into the brief press of their lips before moving towards the house. Bucky chuckled and followed behind him. 

“Someone’s feelin’ sweet,” Bucky called from behind the boy, making his way back into the darkened house. 

“Mhm! Just for you. I finished unpacking already. The trunk's acting funny, just so you know... By the way, do you know if there's any soap in the house?” Peter set the backpack by the door as Bucky entered, watched as the mountain of a man’s eyebrows drew together in thought. 

“Not sure, the lawyer was the one who set this up, so I’m not sure what might be around. Check under the sink in the bathroom, maybe?” He scooped up the discarded bag, holding the box Peter had needed two hands for in only one of his own. 

“Okay, if not I can make do.” Peter started towards the stairs.

“Are you gonna take a shower?” That simple question sounded… strange. A dark note behind Bucky’s words that caused Peter to turn around. Nearly lost his balance when he saw the hunger there.

“Y-yeah.” Nearly choked on the word, reached out and gripped the banister at the base of the steps. 

The way Bucky moved could only be described as ‘stalking.' The fluidity and sheer focused power in the way he walked towards Peter was frightening. 

“Gonna let me join you, sweetheart?” Bucky cupped the back of Peter’s neck, tilted his head back so Peter could see the heat in his gaze as he practically eye-fucked him. 

Any scraps of earlier confidence were gone as the air refused to leave his lungs. This was it. It was time to make a choice. He knew it was coming after Bucky had guided his hips in the alley only 24 hours ago (was it really only that long ago? It felt like a lifetime since New York). He wanted it, even if it scared the shit out of him. Even as he felt the nightmares of Skip crawling into the back of his mind, screaming at him, telling him he would get hurt. 

He placed a hand on Bucky’s chest, couldn’t help but ball his fist in it as he tried to find his words. The intensity in Bucky softened. Bucky’s massive hand swallowed his and held him there. His beau was so patient with him, didn’t push as he tried to breathe. 

“Yes.” It was so soft, so short for something that he had struggled to push out. He was rewarded with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Sighed as it trailed up under his eye and the bristles of Bucky’s beard brushed over his skin. 

Bucky let go so Peter could lead. He felt wobbly on his feet and took the stairs a bit slowly, felt the comforting presence of Bucky behind him as if ready to catch him. He almost didn’t register Bucky setting his stuff down in their bedroom as he B-lined for the bathroom. Had enough sense left in him to look for soap, found a bar tucked next to a few rolls of toilet paper under the sink. There were a few other things that Peter failed to catalog as he shut the little door and opened the bar, nearly jumping out of his skin when Bucky came up behind him and ran his hands down the sides of his ribs. He shivered as he leaned down to mutter softly in his ear.

“Only as far as you want, baby. I’ll guide you, but if you need to stop, say ‘Trenton’.”

Peter couldn’t help but snort, felt Bucky pressing his smile into the back of his curls. The tension broke, Bucky using his strong hands to keep it away as he stroked Peter’s flank. 

“Alright, but I do actually want to get clean.”

“‘Course, baby.”

Peter stepped out of Bucky’s hold to turn on the water, tried to shove down the resurfacing nerves as he heard the slide and muted noises of Bucky stripping. Couldn’t look as he forced himself out of his own clothes. He felt exposed, wanted to hide the tiny nature of his body, knowing he was thin as a twig and worried, worried deeply that Bucky would find it disgusting to see his ribs making gentle indents in his skin. He wasn’t unhealthy, but… he was a little close to underweight. Sometimes it seemed as if Bucky could read his mind. 

“You’re beautiful, doll. How’d I get so lucky to have you?” Peter didn’t jump this time as Bucky settled his hands on Peter’s hips. Flushed as Bucky pressed kisses into his neck, the wall of skin against his back making him hot. “Come on, darling, let me get a good look at all of you.”

With one last deep, body shaking breath, Peter stripped of his pants, letting out a startled noise as Bucky’s cock pressed into his lower back. Bucky laughed. 

“Not even hard yet, sweetheart.” 

“You’re not?” He prayed that Bucky wasn’t a grower as the hot line of his dick fell over Peter’s butt cheek. 

“Nope, but not long till I am.” He hummed the words into Peter’s skin before letting him go. “Let’s get in before we end up on the floor.”

Peter didn’t have to be told twice, stopping into the shower and under the hot spray. He groaned as every muscle in his body was attacked by the soothing hail of droplets. Sighed as Bucky filled in the space behind him, as the bar of soap resting in Bucky’s hand began to rub over Peter’s skin. Bucky supported Peter’s weight as the smaller man leaned into him. Peter could live and die under those hands. The callouses caught on his skin in just the right way, clued Peter into the strength contained within Bucky’s form. Made his heart soft and his cock hard. 

Bucky set the soap aside as he cleaned Peter’s dick. Swallowed him in one hand as he gently rubbed, “cleaning” him as Peter mewled and turned his body so he could press his face into Bucky’s neck and hold onto those broad shoulders. Bucky kissed his temple as he continued to stroke Peter. 

“That’s it baby, let me take care of you. I gotcha’.” He pressed a long, branding kiss into Peter’s temple as he clung to him. 

When Bucky let go, Peter nearly threw a fit and ate shit as he withdrew. He was about to surge forward when his eyes dropped down and he felt his jaw go slack. 

Bucky was big, _really big_. Like, 1% of pornstars, no-way-that-is-their-real-dick kind of big. Peter traced it with his eyes, froze as he caught sight of the massive set of balls that went with it. Couldn’t stop staring at it, even as Bucky chuckled and leaned in just a bit. 

“Just for you, sugar. Wanna give em’ a taste, touch em’? Let em’ know how much you love em’?”

Christ, _C_ _hrist, Bucky was trying to kill him._

He almost didn’t register Bucky rubbing soap onto his palms as he guided Peter’s now sud-covered hands towards his cock. “Treat em’ real nice like I know you can, baby.”

Peter finally snapped out of it as his fingers grazed the soft skin of Bucky’s cock. He rested the top of his head against Bucky’s sternum as he watched his own fingers dance across the shaft, gently taking it into his hands and coating it in soap. Blushed red down his back at the moan Bucky let out and shuddered as Bucky leaned down and nipped at his neck. 

As he reached down towards Bucky’s balls, something in his brain finally clicked. _Taste them. Bucky said to taste them._ Suddenly in a rush, he was quick with them, even stepped out of the way so that the spray would wash all the soap off of Bucky’s groin. Bucky made a confused noise in protest as he did, only to be replaced by a groan and a ' _yes baby, fuck'_ as Peter dropped to his knees. 

He was small, small enough that he was able to slot himself right between Bucky’s thighs and comfortably tilt his head up. Later, he would wonder where this sudden urge came from, how he went from terrified to getting ready to choke on Bucky. But, for now, he didn’t question it. 

He bypassed Bucky’s cock, leaving the man confused, until he felt where Peter was heading. Bucky’s balls were soft, the skin wrinkled and smelling of unscented soap. Peter pressed his lips to them, kissed them. Felt the skin there give against his lips, shuddered as they knocked lewdly against his nose. He wanted them all over his face, wanted to feel this uniquely soft part of Bucky everywhere. It was the one place where there was no hard muscle, a secret little tender spot only Peter would get to enjoy. The feeling of being towered over only amplified the sense of exclusivity. He felt so small, would have been embarrassed if he realized there was already drool trying to creep out of his mouth. He stuck his tongue out, shuddered as Bucky crouched ever so slightly and rested his balls against the slick organ. Peter could taste the soap, the salty tang of skin just under it. He rolled his tongue, shivered as Bucky moaned. Braced his hands on Bucky’s thighs as he lapped at the twins. Drooled over them like a dog over a steak, drank his own spit down to capture any drop of that heady taste. When he finally took them into his mouth, it was like his mind shut down into a state of calm. They fit perfectly, filled out the space between his teeth and spilled out into his cheeks. He couldn’t help but close his eyes and suckle on them, tongue rolling across them as he swallowed a sea of his own spit. Failed, really, as it slipped from the corners of his mouth and down the column of his throat, settling in the V-shaped dip at the base of his throat, soon unable to hold it all, and rolling across his chest to slide down and off the tip of his own neglected cock. 

It was heaven. Why had this been scary? It was soft, made him feel light. He wanted to stay down here and suck on Bucky’s balls till he fell asleep. He pressed himself so close to Bucky’s pelvis that his nose was buried against the base of that perfect cock. He wanted to choke on the balls in his mouth, wanted them to fill it up and just hold himself there. Didn’t realize he was moaning and gargling until his own high-pitched whine carried over Bucky’s words. 

“Fuck baby, so eager for it. You’re just a slut for em’, aren’t you? Want Daddy’s balls so bad you’re gagging for it. Should I just keep you down there? Let you suck on 'em till I come all over that pretty face of yours? See if you can come just from sucking on Daddy’s balls? Fuck honey, hold still.” 

Bucky’s hands reached down and pressed Peter’s face even closer, moaned as Peter made wet, gurgling noises, happy to get more. Later, he would look back on this and be mortified, fear that Bucky would look down on him after this. For now, he drank down what Buck - what _Daddy_ gave him. The word turned something primal on in his brain, wanted that praise so badly. Wanted it so bad his bones were aching with it. He rolled Daddy around in his mouth, felt the sopping wet skin sliding over every inch. When Bucky let his head go, his eyes flew open, balls slipping from his mouth. He felt hazy staring at the scene before him. Daddy’s balls, red and glistening, looking angry. He watched his own spit trail down to the center, watched as it slowly fell, held on by a gradually thinning string until it snapped and landed in his lap. He vaguely registered that his front was coated in his own spit. Peter glanced up, eyes half-lidded. Saw the proud, angry line of Bucky’s cock. It was so swollen Peter could trace the veins running through it. He reached out with his tongue, ran it from base to slit before nibbling lightly on the tip. Let his teeth scrap ever so lightly across it as he licked up drops of precum. It only built his hunger, brought it back. He glanced back down, tried to dive for Bucky’s balls again, but was caught by his shoulders. Looking up once more, he saw Bucky. The man was beaming. Peter returned it with a dazed but happy smile. 

“Look at you, cock drunk already. Just covered in drool. That make you happy, baby? You like keeping my balls warm in your little mouth?”

“Yes.” He kept repeating it. Was so turned on, it was like his insides were boiling. 

“Another time. I need to be inside you or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel. Want daddy inside you, baby? Want him to show you how good his cock is, too?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please, Bucky - Daddy, please I want it.” Babbled, tried to not tear up. His logical brain screaming at him for putting out so easy, for wanting this so badly. 

“Alright, baby. Alright.”


	14. Claimed

Bucky felt like he was walking through lava, thick, heavy and scorching as he led Peter back to the bedroom.

Peter’s feet slipped and slapped wetly on the hardwood as Bucky pulled him along. They were both still mostly wet - Bucky hadn’t cared enough beyond giving them a once-over with the towel. The sheets would dry. He needed to finally fuck this kid after months of waiting, and the heaven he had just been shown in the shower had only made him more impatient.

God. He didn’t think he could be more in love with Peter Stark, but then the boy got on his knees for him.

His cock was aching, bobbing up and down and thudding against his abdomen with every step. His blood felt like boiling water gushing through his veins. Peter’s hand was bird-bone thin and soft in his own, gently squeezing his fingers, and Bucky focused on the fragility of it as he guided them to the luxurious bed Pierce had gifted them.

He stopped when they reached the edge of the mattress and turned to Peter. The boy was shivering, his wild, cherub curls falling slightly straight as errant droplets of water dripped from their tips. The boy smiled, and Bucky returned it, cupping his soft cheek, still flushed from the shower, and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“You still look a little dazed, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled away, chuckling. “That was a lot for you, huh?”

“I’m - ‘m fine,” Peter mumbled, but his cheeks were red and his eyes were hazy, unfocused and awed. “Just, uhm. A little nervous about…”

“Don’t be nervous.” Bucky kissed him gently, then lifted his hands and kissed those, from the backs of his fingers all the way up to the backs of his palms. The sweet little smile Peter gave him warmed his heart. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to say if you need to stop?”

“Y-yes.”

“Say it for me, sweetheart. I need to be sure you remember it.”

“Trenton,” Peter said.

Bucky smiled and pulled him in for a deeper kiss, spreading the boy’s lips with his tongue and swallowing the flushed little squeak Peter made in response. Peter’s own tongue was shy, smaller than Bucky’s and hesitant to intertwine with his, but Bucky didn’t mind all that much. He liked that Peter didn’t have much experience in this, that he needed to follow his lead, his direction. He liked being the one to introduce the boy to the sensation of another person’s tongue ravaging his mouth, how intimate it was, how feral.

Their mouths separated with a sharp, wet _pop,_ and Bucky grinned at the open-mouthed panting, half-lidded, glazed-eyes expression on Peter’s face. Peter looked like Bucky had just dropped to his knees and sucked his soul out through his cock, not given him a single deep kiss.

“Why, um,” Peter asked, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. “Why ‘Trenton’?”

Bucky ran his fingers through the boy’s shiny, wet curls. “It’s the city my prison was in, baby, remember?”

A furious blush ran spread across Peter’s cheeks, up to his forehead and down his neck at the same time. “No, I - I know _that,_ I meant - I meant, um, why do we need a word? Why not… why not just ‘stop’...?”

Bucky was silent for a moment as he thought it over. He wanted to tread lightly, wanted to choose his words carefully, make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing. Peter was green. The thought probably never occurred to him that it could feel good trying to resist, engaging in that primal, ancient struggle, that saying _no_ could actually be the thing that you enjoy the most, how good it can feel to be held down and taken anyway.

He didn’t want to scare the boy. So Bucky kissed his forehead and said, “It just means, _‘no more, pull the plug right now,’_ baby. If I was doing something you don’t like, for example…”

He ran his hands down Peter’s sides, over the sharp ridges of his ribs, down to his waist. 

“Touching you somewhere you don’t like…”

Peter trembled as Bucky’s hands slowly moved to cup his ass, his cheeks almost small enough that he could cover both of them with each palm, giving them a tight squeeze before slowly spreading them open.

“Or licking you somewhere that makes you uncomfortable…”

The boy’s head tipped back as Bucky kissed his way down his cheek, over his jaw until he reached the side of his neck. Peter’s pulse was hammering against his throat, Bucky could feel it on his lips, that little jackrabbit heartbeat. Peter was so _sweet._ So small and shy and unsure. Just a little morsel waiting to be eaten.

Bucky licked his lips before wrapping them around the delicate skin of Peter’s throat and sucking, hard. Peter whined and shook in his hands, but Bucky pulled him closer by the hold on his ass until their naked fronts slotted together, moaning as his rigid cock pressed flat against Peter’s belly.

“O-ow! _Bucky -_ ”

“ _Daddy,_ sweetheart,” Bucky corrected, soothing the slightly swollen skin where he’d been sucking with a few gentle strokes of his tongue, smiling as the boy turned to jelly in his hands, his soft whine of pain devolving into a blissful moan.

“Sorry,” Peter panted, his cheeks flushed bright red, “Daddy.”

“There’s my good boy. Now, as I was saying…”

Peter wriggled in his arms, keening as Bucky continued sucking the dark, swollen hickey into the side of his throat, his voice crying out high and sharp when Bucky pulled back.

“...You can tell me to stop,” Bucky finished, kissing the bright red, blooming bruise covering Peter’s jugular vein. “You can say, _‘no, Daddy, not there, I don’t like it,’_ and I’ll do something else. I’ll kiss you somewhere else. I’ll lick you somewhere else. I’ll _touch_ you somewhere else, until you’re making those pretty noises for me again. But if you say _Trenton,_ baby, that’s it. That’s a full stop. It’s the ‘no more touching, give me space’ word. Do you see the difference? You understand me?”

Peter’s little chest was heaving, sagged in Bucky’s arms like his legs had given out. His eyes were damp, but his cock was still a hard, hot line pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and his little face was flushed red, his eyes half-lidded and clouded with pleasure.

“Baby,” Bucky said again, leaning down to tease the boy’s hickey with his teeth. “You gotta answer me.”

“Y-yes, yes, I understand, I understand,” Peter said, startled, like those words broke him out of his dazed state. “I get it. I’ll - I’ll only use it if I went to totally stop...everything. I understand.”

“Good boy.” Bucky smiled, leaning down to kiss the sweet boy in his arms. “Now. I think you’ve made Daddy wait long enough, don’t you?”

The boy whimpered, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck as he hoisted him into his arms, his grip still tight on that perfect ass. Peter moaned and bucked his hips as his cock pressed tight against Bucky’s abs, and the man’s grin widened, rocking his smaller lover harder against his chest to make Peter cry out and whine as that delicious pressure enveloped his dick.

“Someone’s little cock is feeling good,” he admonished lightly, pretending to give the boy a disapproving frown. “Look at you, baby. Humping your Daddy like an untrained dog. You had your fun in the shower, didn’t you? I thought we agreed it was Daddy’s turn.”

Peter’s face turned so red, Bucky was amazed he could still hold an erection.

“That’s...not my _fault,_ ” Peter protested, whining as he hid his face away in Bucky’s neck, “you’re _making_ me. I - I’m not - ”

“Not trying to rub your dirty cock all over me like a needy little slut?” Bucky said, chuckling when a violent shiver ran down Peter’s back and he moaned, loud and ashamed. “There there, baby. It’s okay. I want you to feel good. But you’re not coming until Daddy’s balls deep inside you.”

“ _God,_ Daddy, please - ”

Bucky turned and held Peter firm to his chest as he threw them both down on the bed, pinning Peter to the mattress. The boy’s legs fell open as Bucky descended on his mouth, kissing him rough and savagely, rewarding him for asking so nicely. Peter’s hands wandered everywhere - his hair, his shoulders, down his back, wrapping around his neck, and the gentle touches made the fire in Bucky’s gut rage hotter, searing him alive.

“Gonna fuck you,” he promised, nipping at Peter’s kiss-swollen, pouty lips. “Gonna fuck you so hard, baby, you’re gonna be _tasting_ me for days. You won’t feel whole again when I’m not inside you. Gonna hate being empty, baby, ‘cause I’m gonna rearrange you around my dick, make you my own personal pretty little cocksleeve.”

A little sob made its way out of Peter’s throat, but Bucky knew it was one of pleasure, because the boy was still desperately thrusting up against Bucky’s chest, trying to relieve some of the ache on his poor, throbbing dick. Bucky took pity and kissed him again, slower this time, a little more gently, and pushed Peter’s legs open all the way, pulling back so he could start prepping him for his cock.

And that was the exact moment Bucky remembered he hadn’t stopped to buy lubricant or condoms.

The condoms he was fine with. He had every intention of working towards getting Peter comfortable with the idea of barebacking down the road, anyway, because the idea of filling his baby up appeased all of him, not just the part that deeply coveted every inch of this boy.

But whether or not Peter would consent to it _now_ was another matter. And without lube, getting his small, inexperienced body open enough to take something as massive as Bucky’s cock was going to require a lot of trust on the boy’s part. Bucky’s stomach dropped at the idea of Peter refusing, of turning him down, denying him this, this thing he had worked and sweated and bled for, that he’d been dreaming of for _months._ Surely Peter wouldn’t do that to him. Not after everything.

“Baby,” he said, clearing his throat, leaning back to get a good look at this gorgeous young man who somehow _loved_ him. Everything about Peter Stark was perfect, from his soft, angelic face, to his rose petal pink nipples, all the way down to his eager, pretty little cock.

Bucky loved him. He loved him so fiercely, he’d make sure the boy never wanted for anything, no matter how small it was. Even if it meant wearing a condom for the rest of their lives.

“Baby,” he said again, collecting himself, “I just remembered, I didn’t have time to go shopping for us. I don’t have any condoms or lube.”

Peter stared up at him with his little red face, his baby brown eyes blinking at him. “Oh.”

“I’m clean,” Bucky clarified, stroking the boy’s cheek, “for the record. Never had so much as an STI. So I’m not really all that concerned about the condoms, anyways. But you’re...well, baby, no offense but, you’re small. And I’m...not. It’s gonna be tough, taking me without lube. I have some ideas that’ll help, but they might be a bit much for you at first.”

Peter’s gaze flittered over his face as the boy thought it over. A somewhat sad, reclusive look came over him, and he swallowed an imaginary lump in his throat in a nervous gulp, then said, “Um. I am, too.”

“You’re what, baby?”

The boy looked away, shy. “I’m clean,” he said. “I went and got myself tested, after…”

Bucky’s hands clenched into fists beside Peter’s head. He took a deep breath through his nose, then tenderly cupped the boy’s cheek, easily supporting his weight with only his left hand.

“I wouldn’t care, baby,” he assured, stroking away the wetness pooling at the outer corner of Peter’s eye. “I told you - you’re it for me. In sickness and in health. God knows I don’t hate the thought of taking you raw, of getting to feel your body sucking and constricting around my bare cock, of getting to come inside you and mark every part of you as _mine,_ inside and out. It’s not the condoms I’m worried about.”

“If…” Peter started, his voice small, but he paused and gathered himself, then continued, stronger, “if you’re not worried about it, then I’m not worried about it, either.”

A smile slowly stretched across his face. Bucky’s heart felt like melted chocolate in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The boy’s face darkened ten shades of red, and he lowered his gaze, embarrassed. “I, um. Like the thought of you...inside me. Bare. Like the thought of you coming inside me.” He lifted his gaze, shyly, until his eyes met Bucky’s. “I like the thought of you coming inside me till you fill me up, Daddy.”

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _

“Fuck!”

Bucky let gravity take his weight, crushing Peter to the mattress as he devoured the boy’s mouth, wrenching his legs further apart to make room. Peter gasped and keened as Bucky slotted the wide, thick head of his cock against his hole and started thrusting at it with shallow, powerful jabs, trying to force it open for him without hurting his baby as much as possible.

“Dad-”

Bucky silenced him with the index and middle finger of his left hand, pushing the metal digits past Peter’s soft lips into his warm, wet mouth. “Suck,” he said, too impatient to tell the boy his plan - he was moments away from coming untouched like a fucking preteen, and he was determined to give Peter that load, one way or another. “Get ‘em nice and wet, doll. Lap at ‘em for Daddy just like you did his balls.”

A slutty, desperate moan left Peter’s stuffed mouth as he obeyed, sucking and licking Bucky’s fingers until they were sopping wet. Bucky kissed the boy gently after he withdrew them, giving him soft, unhurried kisses as the rest of his body thrummed with urgent need. Peter gasped and jerked as Bucky pressed the tip of his index finger against his hole, and Bucky shushed him and pushed until his digit slipped past that tight, resistant little rim.

Peter squirmed, his face flushed and sweat beading at his hairline as Bucky prodded at his inner walls. “You’re okay,” he promised, kissing the boy’s lips, his cheek, his throat, his collarbones. “Doin’ so well, baby. Look how hard your little hole is sucking on Daddy’s fingers.”

“Feels weird,” Peter complained.

“I know.” He kissed Peter’s chest again and gently inserted the second finger, aptly watching the overwhelmed expression deepen on the boy’s face. “It’s necessary. Can’t just press inside you, doll, you’re too little. Daddy’s fat cock would hurt you.”

Whining, Peter arched his back, his little dick dark red and leaking against his pelvis. “ _Daddy._ ”

“Ask me to fuck you,” Bucky commanded, working his fingers in unison, pulling them out briefly to spit heavily on them once more, before pressing them back inside that heavenly little cavern. “Ask nicely, like you did before, baby.”

“Please - ” Peter choked out, riding Bucky’s fingers despite how tense his poor little body was. “Please, Daddy, please fuck me, I don’t need lube, don’t - don’t need condoms, I don’t care, I can do it, I _can._ Just want - please - just wanna feel you inside me, want you to make me yours, want you to come in me till your balls are empty so I can suck on them and make them full again-- _fuck!”_

Peter cried out as Bucky pressed the head of his cock between his probing fingers, before gently pulling them out, letting the boy’s rim suck on the widest part of his tip and help ease it in with a wonderful, satisfying _pop._ Bucky groaned into the pillow, collapsed on Peter’s smaller body, the boy shaking and clinging to his chest the way a baby chimp clings to its mother.

“ _Bucky -_ ”

“Deep breaths, baby boy.”

He barely let Peter make it through the first inhale before he snapped his hips forward, sinking into that perfect, divine hole. Peter choked like he was gagging on the head of Bucky’s dick already, and the sound only turned him more feral, more determined as he started thrusting his hips, fucking Peter with only half his dick, but sinking in a little further each thrust until he was buried to the hilt and fucking the boy like an animal.

It was heaven. It was beyond heaven, if there was such a thing. Bucky had never felt something so incredible. The boy was soft as silk and tighter than a vice, fucking strangling his dick in his perfect, satin heat. It was better than he ever could have dreamed; made the higher functions in his brain momentarily shut off as the only thoughts steamrolling through his consciousness were  _more, harder, deeper, faster, fuck fuck fuck fuck MINE._

Peter was writhing underneath him, gasping for breath, trapped under the weight of Bucky’s body and the mattress, Bucky’s chest pressed flush against his face, suffocating him. He whined for air, and Bucky took pity on him and lifted himself back up, giving the boy a moment of reprieve before he reached down and pressed against Peter’s abdomen,  _hard._

“Aa- _aaagh!”_

“Feel that?” Bucky asked, grinning, watching Peter’s eyes roll back in his pretty little head. “You feel me pressing down there, right where my cock is? Gimme your hand, baby.”

Shakily, Peter lifted his hand and Bucky took him by the wrist, pressing his tiny palm to the front of his tummy, right below his bellybutton. Peter whimpered, craning his head to stare down at himself, to see if he could actually watch Bucky’s cock fucking him under his hand the way he could feel it.

“Squeeze it for me, angel,” Bucky said, groaning when that little hand obeyed, such a perfect, good boy. “Yeah, fuck, just like that. Jack me off like that, baby. Rub my dick through your tight little tummy till you make all of Daddy’s come shoot out. You need to help out too since you want it so bad, after all. Not fair to make Daddy do all the work, is it?”

Peter shook his head, his face wet with tears and drool and his gaze dark, half-lidded and hyper-focused on the task his Daddy had given him, on jacking off Bucky cock through the outer walls of his own stomach.

“Touch yourself with your other hand, baby,” Bucky said, breathless, entranced as Peter’s hand flew to his aching dick, fisting it so tight that it must have hurt. “Let’s come together, yeah? Daddy wants to fill you up while you make a big mess all over yourself. Get ready, baby - ”

“ _Daddy,_ ” Peter sobbed, babbling, fucked absolutely cockstupid. “Please - want it - _want it so bad please Daddy come in m--_ ”

Bucky captured his lips in a bruising kiss as his orgasm hit, crashing over him like a tidal wave, momentarily turning the whole world white as he came rope after hot, thick rope inside Peter’s warm, willing hole. The boy was gasping for breath into the kiss, but Bucky gave him none, just ravaged his sweet little mouth with his tongue as he emptied his balls inside his boy’s body just like Peter asked him to. With his free hand, he took the boy’s exhausted one between his fingers and kept him stroking his poor little cock, fisting him just right until Peter keened like a brood sow and came in both their fists, writhing on Bucky’s cock still buried inside of him.

He barely had the good sense to roll to the side so he wouldn’t suffocate Peter by collapsing on him again. Peter was gasping for air like a drowned man, his little chest heaving as it struggled to contain his frantic hummingbird heart. Bucky pulled him into his arms and held him, tightly, until the shaking and the panting slowed down, pressing small, soft kisses into the boy’s hair and sweaty forehead, murmuring to him the whole time.

“You’re alright,” he assured, holding Peter to his chest, protectively. “Did so good, Pete, such a good boy for me. You took Daddy’s cock so well. Didn’t even need lube, God, should’ve known you could take me without any help. You were just made for me, sweetheart. You were always meant to be mine. I love you so much.”

“Love you…” Peter said, still slightly out of it, making Bucky smile. He kissed the bridge of the boy’s nose, the tip of it, and then claimed his lips.

“I love you,” he said again, and kept saying it, over and over as Peter drifted off in his arms.


	15. Peter Stark: Missing

Peter didn’t want to wake up.

Sleep cradled him and let him avoid the thoughts that were pushing at the back of his mind. It would mean facing what last night’s actions and words meant for his relationship with Bucky. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to have to navigate it quite yet. 

Too bad his body had other ideas. 

He was woken up by a sore pressure against his hole. A dull sting and thud which had him groaning. It didn’t help that Bucky’s cock was still inside him, soft but present. Most of it had slipped out, but the head was caught on his rim, as though his hole was refusing to give up what it had so rightfully earned. 

He flushed, shifted his hips until the tip slipped out and slapped against his leg, leaving a wet trail along the inside of his thigh. As much as he loved Bucky, the slimy kiss of his penis was not really all that pleasant at the moment. It was only made worse as he realized something was leaking out of him. He didn’t register it until it began cooling along the cleft of his ass. He realized, mortified, that Bucky’s come was dripping out of him. 

Peter attempted to roll over, to escape and clean himself up before Bucky woke, the words from last night dancing in his head. Bucky had called him a slut, told him he was going to make him into a cocksleeve, and he’d gotten off to it. Had wanted more of that praise and teasing no matter how vulgar it had been. Now, under the light of day, it scared him. Did Bucky believe those things, or had it just been a game? Their first time had been rough. It had had its sweet moments, but it was nowhere near the tender love making he had envisioned. It was his own doing, he’d been the one to suck on Bucky’s balls. Had been so gone that while he remembered everything that had happened, it was framed with fuzzy edges and a blissed out mood lighting. Still, it was outside of what he understood about himself, about what his own sexual needs were. Though he was starting to wonder if he ever really knew. The scariest part? He wanted it again. Wanted Bucky in control and desperately deep inside him. 

Mid-turn, a strong set of arms caught him and gentle lips pressed against his temple. The words that followed thrummed through his body. Tinged with sleep and just a little gravely, it made his hole twitch, reminding him how sore he was. 

“Where you goin’, sweetheart?” Bucky ran his hands over Peter’s arm as he propped himself up, seemed to be soaking up the image of Peter under him.

“I was just going to go to the bathroom… I’m sticky.” 

Bucky hummed. “Sticky? Where are you sticky, baby?”

Peter looked away, didn’t want to look at his beau in that moment. Admitting he was unclean in some way after being called a dirty slut… it felt like he was condemning himself to being something he wasn’t. Bucky already seemed to know what ‘sticky’ meant, though, as he snuck a hand between Peter’s legs. Hit Peter’s hole right on the mark on the first try. Peter hissed softly. 

“Seems someone is a little messy and sore. Want me to help you, baby?”

Peter couldn’t help but give Bucky a slightly suspicious look. 

Bucky pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll make it feel good baby, no need to be nervous.”

Peter was still a little sceptical, but “trust” and “Bucky” might as well have been the same word in his mind. “Okay, just be gentle, ‘m sore.”

“Aw, I’m sorry honey. I’ll make it feel better.”

Peter didn’t quite know what he was expecting. Bucky to get up and get a washcloth? Maybe an ice pack wrapped in a towel? It certainly wasn’t Bucky between his legs, hiking them up over his broad shoulders, and large hands holding up the suspended part of his body, supporting his back and preventing any cramps.

“B-Bucky?”

He didn’t get a response as Bucky leaned forward and licked a molten hot strip from his hole up to his taint. The jerk his body gave was _violent,_ like Bucky had shocked him with a high voltage wire. 

“So sensitive, baby. Wonder what it would be like if I fucked you right now, spread you back out again and let that puffy little hole swallow me up.”

“Noo.” He slurred the word, didn’t sound very convincing even to his own ears. 

“Shh, I know, I won’t. We need something better than spit, I don’t want to tear you up by accident. Now, let Daddy kiss his poor baby’s pretty little hole better.” Bucky made good on his word. The kiss was _searing._ Bucky’s lips were warm and soft but his beard rubbed against his cheeks. The little slip of tongue dancing across his puffy skin dragged a moan from deep in his chest. It only drove Bucky, his tongue dipping inside Peter’s hole over and over and over until he was more wet than when he started. Bucky drank up his own come. Peter assumed he was swallowing it, seemed to be, right until he felt Bucky’s calloused thumbs pulling at his hole, spreading it. Bucky’s tongue lulled out into his hole and he felt drool and what must have been Bucky’s old come rolling back inside of him. Made Peter feel like he was being consumed by fire in his blood, turned cherry red down to his shoulders. Bucky planted one, firm kiss on Peter’s fluttering hole, now being cooled by the drying mix of spit and cum exposed to the air. Moaned and shuddered as Bucky blew on it a few times. 

“There, sweetheart. Feeling better?”

“Yes, but, Bucky…”

“Yes, darling?” 

Goddamn Bucky and his pet names, making him soft. “I-I need to talk to you about something.” 

Bucky gently lowered Peter’s legs back onto the bed. Crawled his way up Peter’s chest, pressing a kiss onto each nipple before settling one on Peter’s lips, a chaste little peck. “What’s on your mind, Petey?”

“I-” How was he supposed to start a conversation like this? “Did you mean that stuff you said last night?”

“About lovin’ you? ‘Course I did.” Pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of Peter’s nose. Didn’t help Peter’s resolve much. 

“I know that… I love you too… But I’m talking about the - about the _dirty stuff_.” God, please smite him now. 

The few beats of silence that followed made Peter want to curl up and vanish into thin air. Bucky was giving him a look he couldn’t quite read, spoke slowly. “What do you mean, Peter?”

“I mean, do you really think that I’m - do you really believe - ” Fuck, he’d called Bucky ‘Daddy’ maybe eight hours earlier, had given as good as he’d gotten on the verbal front, and here he was, unable to repeat back anything that he’d gotten hard off of hearing. 

“Peter.” Bucky cupped his face between his hands, long strands of Bucky’s hair falling across Peter’s cheeks. Those grey eyes Peter loved so dearly looked at him with so much love and determination Peter thought his heart would burst. “Those words were just for fun. It was just to get you going. Meant to help you melt till you were sweet as liquid sugar. Didn’t mean anythin’ insulting, all the praise was as real as can be. Do you need me to stop doing that? Don’t want me to push your buttons a little bit and get you going that way?”

All the tension suddenly vacated his body. Peter leaned into the flesh hand, enjoying the warmth there. “No… I liked it… I just don’t want you to actually think of me like that, is all…”

“‘Course not. You’re precious to me, baby. Best thing that ever happened to me, and I ain’t one to judge after everything, anyway.”

Peter leaned up and kissed Bucky. Did it erase all his fears? No. But knowing where Bucky stood helped ease what was there. This sort of conversation could very well come up again, but for now, it was enough. 

Bucky returned the kiss with a little extra tongue, and Peter couldn’t help but giggle a little at the playful way Bucky lapped and nipped at his lips. “Ready to get cleaned up?”

“Decided your tongue wasn’t enough?” Peter teased. 

“Careful, or you may end up with a full tongue bath.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh long and hard to that one.

\---

Peter was starving, but like he’d predicted, there was no food anywhere in the house. Bucky had been hesitant to leave him alone, but it wasn’t like he could take Peter into town to do some normal grocery shopping. Peter wrote down some of the things he wanted, trying to be frugal, before handing it off to Bucky. The goodbye had to be short. Peter had a feeling Bucky would rather curl up around him and starve for a few days than leave him alone, but after a few complaints of hunger from Peter, Bucky conceded. 

Peter watched Bucky’s car disappear down the dirt road from the porch. Didn’t head back inside until the sedan carrying his Bucky was nothing more than a distant dot. He was alone for the first time since grabbing his bag in New York two days before. It seemed like eons ago, a whole other life. One where his ass wasn’t stinging and cursing him for taking Bucky nearly dry (lube had been underlined several times on the list at Peter’s request). 

He decided to look around a bit, but didn’t find anything of much interest in the house. The furnishing was so minimal, he was honestly surprised when he found a TV mounted on the wall in the living room, along with a single loveseat. It turned out to be a blessing though, as he realized he had absolutely nothing in the house to entertain himself with. He plopped down in the loveseat with a wince, brought his legs up on the seat with him as he began flipping through channels in order to find something. 

He quickly took back the title of blessing from the TV. 

The TV had been set near the news stations and as he flipped through, his face was plastered across every single one of them. He tried to power through, to skip by the channels. The TV was run on an antenna, so it wasn’t like he could just open a menu and jump where he wished. He tried his best, was doing quite well, until his dad popped on screen. 

The image had him freezing. Tony Stark stood behind a podium, as still as death and staring down the camera. It made Peter feel like his dad could see him, like he knew where Peter was and that he would be watching. His dad was strung tight, controlled in a way Peter rarely ever saw. Interviewers were quick to jump into questions.

“Mr. Stark! Is it true that your son Peter was assaulted not long before his disappearance two days ago?” The shrill voice of a woman cut through the chatter, it felt as if the whole room fell silent in order to allow her question to ring loud and clear into the air. 

“Yes, not long before Peter vanished, a man by the name of Skip Westcott assaulted and defiled my son in a public space.”

The room fell into an uproar. 

“Do you believe that Westcott is behind the disappearance of your son?”

“He is the number one suspect currently. Westcott disappeared a few weeks before this, and is most likely the one holding my son captive.”

 _Captive._ It was like a bad crime documentary. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if one day his story was. 

“If this is true, would it not be fair to assume that currently your son is being taken against his will?”

“Call it what it is. My son is being raped.” Peter wanted to shrivel up and hide as that piercing gaze reached through the television and settled on him. “And I will make sure that Skip Westcott rots in prison for the rest of his miserable life regardless. I’d pull the trigger myself if I could.” And Peter knew he would, there was no ‘if’. When Tony caught Skip, he would die. Peter just prayed that it took as long as it could to find him, that Skip would be good for something and protect Bucky. 

The media buzzed like flies. They’d just found a rotting carcass, one which would fester and feed them for months. “Peter Stark Missing” would be updated every day, the country would latch on to the manhunt as they tried to find Skip. Thousands of hearts would break for him as he sat safely in a house in the middle of bumfuck Indiana getting fucked till he couldn’t breath. 

He wanted to throw up. Didn’t realize that the interview was still going, could only focus on the pain hidden deep behind his father’s eyes. Peter wanted to say he was sorry, but it would mean nothing even if he did. He knew the consequences. Knew that this was the outcome. 

Peter didn’t hear the door open or his name being called. He was frozen in a bubble where only those sad eyes existed and bore into his heart. God, what ha--

“Peter? Baby?” Bucky stood in the archway leading into the living room. Didn’t seem to notice the TV just yet. 

Peter couldn’t feel the tears streaking down his cheeks, couldn’t bear his own heavy heart. He didn’t think, just turned to Bucky. 

“What have I done?”


	16. The Raped Boy

Bucky stared on in shock as Peter wept into his hands. He cursed himself for leaving the boy alone, but even now, watching Peter fall to pieces on the couch in front of him, he knew it was necessary. As much as he hated it, the nearest town had been absolutely buzzing with the story of Tony Stark’s missing son,  _ the raped boy, _ even all the way out here in rural Indiana, and they didn’t have the right gear to disguise Peter at all. He would have been seen without a doubt.

So it was necessary that Bucky left him alone, even though, right now, it was breaking his heart.

He set the bags down and drew the crying boy into his arms, shushing him. Peter clung to the sleeves of his jacket, hot tears flooding down his cheeks, sobbing his little heart out. “Baby,” Bucky said again, running his hands down Peter’s trembling back, practically crushing him to his chest. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

And then he saw it.

The TV flickered, and Bucky looked up just in time to catch sight of what looked like a press conference wrapping up, the screen filled with throngs of people holding up microphones, and at the front of all of them, like a king standing before his subjects, was the cold, furious face of Tony Stark himself.

Bucky’s hands tightened their hold on Peter, and he pulled him closer, his eyes narrowing.

No wonder Peter was so upset. They’d only spent one night together, and already, his thick-headed father was recruiting the whole world to try and separate them. Of course he would be scared, the poor thing.

Bucky sighed and softly kissed the boy’s forehead. “Is this what’s got you all worked up?” he asked gently, smoothing down Peter’s wild head of curls. “Baby. My sweet boy. Come here.”

He turned the TV off and gathered Peter into his lap, cradling him like a child. It shouldn’t have been easy to bundle an eighteen-year-old teenager in his arms this way, but Bucky was tall and broad in all the right places - there was a reason they called him The Winter  _ Soldier, _ after all - and Peter was...well, Peter couldn’t have been more the opposite. If it wasn’t a slur to refer to gay boys as  _ fairies, _ that’s exactly what Bucky would call him, because Peter was delicate and ethereal and  _ Fae-like _ in every sense of the word.

So it shouldn’t have been easy to cradle Peter in his arms, but it was. It was like Peter was born to fit there, one more great, cosmic sign proving they were meant to be together. Everything from their circumstances to the very DNA that designed their bodies matched up to ensure that they were the perfect pair, and Bucky loved it, loved it almost as much as he hated the terrible sound of Peter crying.

“S’all my fault,” Peter said, the words all stringing together as he forced them out alongside his sobs. “My dad, he’s - I hurt him, I hurt him and now he’s - he’s so  _ mad, _ and when he finds us he’s gonna...he’s going to…”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, his arms stilling, no longer rocking Peter against his chest like an infant. “Baby. Look at me.”

He cupped the boy’s cheek and lifted his face up, away from his chest, until their eyes met.

“Peter, I know you feel bad that we left the way we did, but you need to remember, your dad has responsibility here, too. This isn’t your fault.”

Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying, in vain, to stem the flow of tears. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if your dad ever bothered to actually  _ talk _ to you, if he was open to the idea of you having a relationship with anyone other than himself, if he had paid enough attention to you to realize you had already met someone and fallen in love...we wouldn’t have had to leave. We would still be in New York.”

Two wide, wet eyes blinked up at him in perfect, heartbroken unison. Peter looked at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. Bucky took advantage of his stunned silence, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to the boy’s hair, hugging him tightly until Peter said, “R-Really?”

“Of course, baby,” Bucky said. He rubbed some of the lingering tears from Peter’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re an adult. Even if your dad didn’t necessarily  _ agree _ with us moving in together, or if he just needed some time to warm up to the idea, that would have been fine. But from what you’ve told me, your dad...isn’t like that, is he?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then reluctantly shook his head.

“He would have stopped you, baby. He would have done anything - and I mean  _ anything _ \- to keep me the hell away from you. He wouldn’t have cared that we can tell each other anything. He wouldn’t have cared that I would never let anything happen to you. He wouldn’t have cared that we love each other.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes again, but Bucky caught them before they could run down his cheeks.

“You can love someone and still know that they aren’t good for you, doll. Your dad...I think he does love you. And yeah, right now, I’m sure he’s takin’ it hard. But that’s on him, baby, it’s not on you. Because when you love someone, you have to be willing to let them go. And your dad never would’ve been.”

He pulled Peter in, kissing his wet, tear-swollen cheek, then the tip of his nose, and finally, his pretty, pink, pouty lips.

“Remember how I said you could write your dad letters? Maybe it would make you feel better if you wrote one, baby. I won’t be starting my new job for at least a week or so, so I won’t be able to mail it for you until then, but it might help you process everything if you wrote it out.”

A small, shy smile tugged at Peter’s lips as he sniffled, his tears finally running out. “You remembered,” he said, the angelic bell chime of his voice turned raw from all the sobbing. “You remembered that I like to write things out when I’m sad.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s back and hugging him tightly. How could he ever forget? It was thanks to that that he found out about Skip and what he’d done. It was thanks to Peter’s love of writing that that rat was currently breathing his last wretched, pain-filled breaths.

“I also remembered you telling me how much you like to eat potato soup with cheese and bacon when you’re feeling down, so I picked up the ingredients for it, just in case.” He kissed Peter’s nose again and sat the boy upright in his lap. “Why don’t you come help me figure out where things should go in our kitchen, and then I’ll whip up a big pot for us for dinner?”

Peter’s cheeks darkened to an adorable shade of red, and he wrapped his arms tight around Bucky’s neck, his legs falling on either side of his hips as he straddled him.

“I’m still pretty sore,” he confessed quietly, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Will you...um. Will you carry me? Please?”

Bucky felt his dick twitch inside his pants, spurred on by Peter’s weight and the warmth of his body pressed against it. He carefully took hold of the boy’s sensitive ass, gently but firmly pressing them together as he prepared to stand.

“Always, baby.”

—

Their second night together was much more romantic than their first.

Peter, the poor thing, was still feeling a little achy and reserved as they made dinner. After Bucky brought their newly-purchased toiletries (and the lube) upstairs, the boy stuck to his side as they put everything else away, clinging to him as they acquainted themselves with their new kitchen. Bucky loved how Peter stayed tucked under his arm as he cooked, or propped up on the kitchen counter with his legs dangling over the edge, palms flat on the countertop beside his thighs to take most of his weight off his sore ass.

But they talked the entire time. Luckily for Bucky, Peter was pretty easily distractible. It was much easier to manage in person than through letters or emails - if a topic started swaying too far into unwelcome territory, Bucky merely had to intervene once with a tidbit he thought might catch Peter’s attention, and watch him sail off in a new direction.

It was comfortable, doing something as domestic as making his own dinner for the first time in ten years while his young lover chirped at his side. It felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. They communicated fluidly, like it was second nature, an instinct written into their very brain matter. Peter had an adorable playful side, silly in a way that couldn’t help but be endearing, sassy in a way that made Bucky want to leave their dinner burning on the stovetop to kiss that mischievous little grin right off the boy’s face.  


Peter asked about the house as they ate, specifically about the locked door that led to the basement, and the safes built into the kitchen and master bathroom. Bucky feigned ignorance, suggesting that whoever restored this place had decided to modernize the odd features its original owners had installed instead of removing them. Peter speculated about the wealthy family who must have built the house originally, how strange and creepy they must have been, like something you’d find in a cheap horror movie about ghosts.

Bucky couldn’t help teasing him, and tapped the boy on the shoulder as they were cleaning up, side by side at the sink. Peter startled like a newborn fawn and whirled around in alarm. “Something just touched me!”

“Must have been that ghost my lawyer warned me about,” Bucky said.

Peter glared at him, and Bucky couldn’t help but burst into laughter, only laughing harder when the boy took the side sprayer beside the faucet and pressed down hard on the trigger, soaking him. Bucky was able to wrestle the nozzle away from him pretty easily - God, Peter was such a delicate,  _ little _ thing, no wonder his dad never let him out of his sight - and hefted the boy over his shoulder like a deer, beaming at the stream of giddy laughter that poured from Peter’s smiling mouth.

“That wasn’t very nice, young man. I think you need to be taught some manners.”

Peter writhed on his shoulder, his legs kicking out futilely. “You totally deserved it!”

“Oh, really?” He trailed his hand up the back of Peter’s thigh, stopping just below the cheeks of that perfect ass. “You’re lucky you’re still feelin’ sore, or else I’d have you over my knee for a comment like that.”

He expected another sassy remark, but to his very pleasant surprise, Peter only whimpered, his hands tightening into little fists in the back of Bucky’s wet shirt, where his upper body hung limply. Bucky waited a beat, then trailed his hand up higher, until he was full on cupping the cheek of his ass.

“You like the sound of that, baby?” he asked, giving the cheek under his left palm a gentle squeeze. “Like the thought of Daddy bending you over his knee when you’re bein’ a mouthy little brat?”

“I - I dunno,” Peter said, but the erection digging into Bucky’s shoulder told a different story. “It’s...it’s kind of weird.”

“You ever been spanked before, doll? Hm?”

Peter buried his upside-down face in Bucky’s soaked back, and the man’s heart nearly burst. “No. My dad threatened to, a couple of times, but - he never had to actually do it.”

“Such a good boy,” Bucky purred, tightening his hands on the boy’s legs as he started walking out of the kitchen. “I don’t think Daddy will have to do it, either.”

Peter clung to his damp shirt as they started ascending the stairs, his voice coming out a little shy and scared as he said, “B-Bucky?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“The, um - the daddy thing - ” he gulped, nervously, squirming in Bucky’s hold. “We don’t...we don’t have to do that all the time, right? I mean, I - don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it’s just - for me, it kind of...it got kind of...I don’t know. Kind of heavy, I guess. We can...we can make love normally too, right? I mean - crap, that’s not the right word - I wasn’t trying to say we did it  _ abnormally, _ just - can we do it...without the daddy thing, sometimes…? Would that be okay?”

They reached the bedroom, and Bucky took another moment before replying so he could gently pull Peter down into his arms, holding him bridal-style, before lowering him onto the bed like the precious pillow princess he was.

“Peter,” he said softly, cupping the boy’s cheek, his gaze flickering over that sweet, worried little face. “Of  _ course _ that’s okay. I didn’t mean to spring my kink on you without talking to you about it first. It just sort of...happened.” He smiled apologetically, his heart soaring when Peter smiled back. God, he loved this boy. “If you don’t like it, you can tell me. I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t like.”

“I do like it,” Peter insisted, leaning in to Bucky’s hands, nuzzling his palms slightly. “It was really hot. But sometimes, if it’s okay, I’d like to just do things...more…”

“Vanilla?” Bucky asked, smiling when Peter’s nose wrinkled. “Romantic?” he tried instead, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Slow?”

He could feel Peter’s cheeks burning in his hands. His sweet, innocent, beautiful boy. “Yeah,” Peter said, almost a whisper. “Yeah. More like that.”

Bucky tilted the boy’s face up and kissed him, slow and romantic, just like he asked, but still with every bit of desperate hunger churning in his gut shining through. Peter’s mouth opened for him on a gasp, and Bucky’s tongue delved inside, devouring, insatiable for more of everything this boy had to give.

“Okay, baby,” he said as he pulled back, just enough to crawl on top of Peter, flattening him down on the mattress. “I can do that.”


	17. 'Till Death Do Us Part

The slow, gentle kisses made Peter soft. The heat from last night still nestled securely in every touch and press, but now more akin to banked coals than the blazing fire it had been. Bucky trailed kisses down his neck and gentle hands ran down his sides before tugging his shirt up and over his head. The cool air of the room made his chest cold, his nipples pebbling into hard nubs almost instantly. Was quickly remedied as Bucky returned to rest on top of him, his own shirt now gone as well. 

Peter could feel every muscle in Bucky’s chest. He hadn’t gotten to appreciate last night just how densely muscled his beau was. Every muscle was ridged and defined, he could feel every minor dip as it pressed against his own flat tummy. Bucky’s barrel thick rib cage pressing into his thin, bony one, reminded him that their glaring size difference took form in more than just height. It seemed like he was always confronted with his small stature with Bucky, but… it felt special, safe. Bucky was the house he could hide in when things got too heavy, hard to believe anything could knock down someone as powerful as the man before him. Peter was small so Bucky could hold him, carry him like he weighed nothing. Something that had once plagued him now allowed him to slip perfectly into life with Bucky. Turned into an experience he treasured and craved.

Peter wrapped his arms around Bucky, sighed as the older man latched on to his neck. The light pressure as Bucky drew skin up into his mouth made Peter melt into a moan. His fingers sneaking their way up into that dense mane of hair, used his nails to scratch gently at Bucky’s scalp. Smiled to himself as he felt his love sink further down against him, Bucky’s arms bracketed either side of his head as hair fell and created a curtain to hide them. It was sweet, intimate, exactly what he needed after last night. When Bucky released his skin with a light _pop!_ Peter could practically feel the angry red hickey blooming down the side of his neck. It hit him with a strange burst of energy. Feeling playful in its wake, he nipped at Bucky’s hair, tried to catch it lightly between his teeth and succeeded. Released it with a squeak when Bucky rumbled deep in his chest and nipped Peter’s ear.

Bucky’s low, rolling chuckle filled Peter’s chest, carried across their connected ribs and made Peter giggle with the vibrations. “Someone’s feeling a little impish.” 

Peter threw an arm across his forehead and gasped. “Are you implying something, sir?” 

Peter was a little relieved when Bucky simply smirked instead of taking that as an invitation to another kink. He could enjoy the Daddy kink, but ‘sir’ was too impersonal, couldn’t handle something alienating like that after so long living with his dad. “Not implyin’ anythin’, you’re small and you’re being mischievous. I’m just callin’ it like I see it.”

“You wound me. No sex for you. You shall not plunder my coin purse this night.” Peter turned his head to the side, his little smile betraying the serious energy he was trying to pull off.

Bucky laughed, long and loud. “Seems like I’ll have to be on good behavior so I can earn my way back in. Though, I already wasn’t vyin’ for much with how sore you are, baby.” 

“Please tell me you got lube at the store. I don’t think I can do that again anytime soon.” Rocked his body side to side slightly as he readjusted at the mention of his tender hole, his sore backside.

“‘Course, it’s right over here.” Bucky rolled off of him and reached under the bed, producing a larger than average-sized bottle of lube.

“Oh wow, that’s a lot.” Peter hadn’t seen lube before in person, but he imagined that sixteen ounces was a lot for two people. 

“Doesn’t hurt to have it, don’t wanna tear you up.” Bucky sat up and rolled the container between his hands, studying it. 

“Lemme see.” Peter sat up and made grabby hands at the bottle until Bucky handed it over. He looked it over, studying the clear liquid and label, gawked when he saw the little price sticker on the side. “ _Twenty dollars?!_ For lube?! You can only use it for like two things!” 

“There’re more than two uses for lube.”

Peter was going to say _that’s not the point_ but he made the mistake of looking up at Bucky. Bucky, who had laid himself out like a cat and was giving Peter ‘fuck me’ eyes so intense it seemed to suck all the air out of the room. It threw Peter so badly that instead of his original quip, possibly the densest thing he could have said came out in its place. “What else is there?”

“If you take off your pants I’ll show you.” Bucky’s voice dropped lower than Peter had ever heard it in the past. It sent an unfamiliar giddiness zinging up his spine.

“Bucky…If it has anything to do with my - my _backside,_ I wasn’t joking when I said I was sore.” He really hoped that cleared up soon. The idea of Bucky inside of him again… it was definitely on the list of things he’d like to repeat more than once.

Bucky shook his head. “I heard you doll, I wouldn’t ever hurt you after you asked me not to.”

“Okay, I trust you.” As he got out of bed to shed the rest of his clothes, he realized that may have been the first time he’d said it out loud. It may have been obvious to him, but he didn’t know if it was to Bucky. He hoped that little comment would change that. 

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you naked, sweetheart. A part of my sweet boy that’s all for me.” Bucky shucked his own pants off as he watched Peter drop his own. 

Peter’s face scorched as he resisted the urge to cover himself. Bucky opened his arms for him and despite his embarrassment, the invitation was too tempting. He got onto the bed and crawled over on his hands and knees until he was secure in his arms. The slight chill in his skin vanished as the furnace that was Bucky Barnes warmed him up. Couldn’t help but curl up and tuck his feet between Bucky’s thighs for the added warmth. 

“Someone’s getting comfy, thought I was gonna show you something new?” Bucky hummed as he twirled a curl of Peter’s hair around his finger. 

“We are, I’m just stealing all your body heat first. I’m cold.” 

“Here, sit up for a second.” 

Peter did as he was told and for once resisted the urge to squeak as Bucky lifted and moved him. Bucky wrapped and tucked a blanket around Peter’s front before pressing himself against Peter’s back, giving Peter one of his biceps to rest his head against. Pressed kisses along his love’s neck as he reached and gave Peter’s cock a few gentle strokes, running his finger up and down the length. A mixture of quiet sighs and breathy moans peaked past Peter’s lips. Bucky’s fingers were light as they coaxed Peter’s cock towards interest in whatever he had in mind. He could feel Bucky’s own starting to wake up as it settled against his thigh. The hand by his head stroked his hair, Bucky petting over his curls making his heart tender and full. Those two hands so easily kept him pinned in place as he dissolved into Bucky’s chest. This, this he could live in forever. 

“So sweet for me, sugar. I love the way you melt in my arms. Love how small you are, the way you just slot yourself right against me, baby. You’re perfect.” 

Peter turned his head into the arm he was resting on. Peppered kisses where he could reach and smiled when the hand below traveled up to pet at his flank, slipping under the blanket. Bucky’s fingers dancing over his ribs before settling over his heart. Hummed as Bucky kissed the corner of his lips. 

“I love you, Bucky.” Peter hummed.

“I love you too, Peter.” Bucky kissed behind his ear. “Ready baby?” 

“For you? Always.”

Bucky removed the hand from his heart but Peter could still feel the cool metal of his prosthetic hand resting there. The click of the lube bottle was startling. Threw him for a second but a few whispered words from Bucky had him settled quickly. 

“Press your thighs together and relax for me, sweetheart.” 

Peter didn’t know if he could relax any more than he was but he focused on loosening his muscles as much as he could. When the head of Bucky’s penis pressed between his thighs just below his butt, he couldn’t help but giggle at the alien feeling - quickly stopped as a full-body shiver wracked through him with the thrust of Bucky’s hips. Bucky pushed forward until his cock peaked out under Peter’s. Peter was once again confronted by Bucky’s sheer _size._ It was so large that his finger and thumb would have had a good inch between them if he tried to wrap his hand around it. The sheer length of the thing had it stretching far past Peter’s hips as he thrust through. Peter could feel just how far back Bucky needed to pull his hips in order to get the tip to disappear between Peter’s slender thighs. 

The slippery drag of Bucky between his legs was unfamiliar but achingly intimate. The long, slow thrusts let him feel _everything._ His balls were getting rubbed and rutted against, sending sparks of pleasure winding up his spine. Bucky took care of Peter, stroked his cock in time with each slow thrust, the metal warming to his skin. Where last night was primal, this was its polar opposite. A form of slow and sweet that didn’t quite have a word. Deeper than lovemaking, it felt like Bucky was playing his entire body like a harp. As though he knew where every nerve ending in Peter’s body began and ended. 

The rocking motion of their hips almost put him to sleep in the best of ways. The slow, pleasant roll of their bodies made him floaty. It was almost like a bucket of ice water to his senses when Bucky gave a few hard thrusts before the inside and front of his thighs were painted white. Peter stared down at where Bucky’s cock was settled under his own, making his look dwarfish in comparison. Some buried, primal part of him loved it. 

His own orgasm surprised him. Bucky determined to get him to finish had it railing into him suddenly, his whole body shuddering as he added to their mess. Left him utterly boneless and burrowing into Bucky’s arm. Sighed as Bucky traced letters into his chest through the blanket. Kept repeating the same ones over and over again. Peter’s numbed brain only picking up a ‘B’ and a ‘K’ out of them. Liked the drag of his fingers as they formed their shapes. Wanted to shuck the blanket just to feel them on his bare skin. 

“You alright, honey?”

“Mhm, I’m really good… just sleepy.”

Bucky chuckled, brought to mind warm coffee and smooth honey as it rolled through Peter. “Let me get a towel and clean you up, then I’ll hold you while you drift off. Sound good, sweetheart?”

“Yeah… sounds really good.” At some point his eyes had drifted closed. 

Bucky slipped out from behind him, smooth as a snake. Peter could hear the strangely quiet patter of his feet as he went to the bathroom. The water thundered in the sink briefly before suddenly Bucky was back. A soft washcloth in hand as he pulled it over Peter’s skin. Was careful and thorough as he lifted Peter’s cock and even reached behind his balls to make sure he caught all the lube. Had Peter lay on his back and parted his thighs so he could reach between them. Peter startled when the towel was replaced by lips. Bucky pressing and sucking marks into his cleaned skin, pulling sleepy moans from Peter as his thighs were painted red and purple with lovebites and bruises. Felt hazy as he fell head-first into the sensation. 

“Look at you. You were made to be loved and cherished, sweet thing. You’re perfect. Made for me. Get all floaty and sweet just from me touchin’ you. You’re mine baby, always have been, you just needed to find me first.”

“ ‘m yours, don’t want anyone else. Just you, I love you.” Peter muttered in his blissed-out state, not quite aware of what he was saying. 

The words seemed to ignite something primal in Bucky. Peter groaned as Bucky gave a particularly hard bite to his hip, lapped and sucked at it in apology before slithering up and capturing Peter’s lips. Slipped inside and tried to swallow him whole. It was heady and fucked with Peter’s already half powered brain. Still, he slid his hands into Bucky’s hair, loved the feeling of it dancing through his fingers. Did his best to return what he was given but was sloppy. 

Bucky pulled away, nipping at Peter’s lips as he did. “Love when you’re like this. Love you all the time, who am I kiddin’. You’re the love of my life Peter Stark, the only thing after you for me is death, and I’m plannin’ on livin’ a long ass time for you, baby.”

Peter tried not to get emotional at the thought of Bucky dying. “Nobody after you either, even if I’m alone for the rest of my life, I couldn’t love anyone else.”

A kiss on each eyelid had Peter sucking back tears. “I love you, I ain’t leavin’ anytime soon. The devil himself is gonna have to come drag my ass away and I’m goin’ down swingin’.” 

“I love you too, so much it hurts. Will you hold me? I - I wanna be close to you.”

“Always baby, always.” Bucky gathered him up in his arms. Removed the blanket between them and laid them down. Put it over both of them to trap Bucky’s heat for Peter as he pressed their naked skin together. Peter got as close as was physically possible, would fuse their very atoms if he could. Fell asleep with one of Bucky’s hands on the back of his neck and Bucky’s other tracing those same looping letters in his skin. In his last lucid moments realizing it was his beau’s name being scrawled lovingly across his flesh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thanks for all the comments we've been getting that I haven't been able to get around to! It's always lovely knowing people's thoughts!


	18. Every Moment

Bucky was elbows deep in his fourth dossier when he heard the floor creak outside his office.

He was quick to minimize the tabs of research he’d been stockpiling on his laptop, covering up anything that might make Peter curious, just moments before the boy softly padded into the room. Bucky pretended to keep reading, fully aware of Peter sneaking up behind him, trying not to smile at how cute his young lover truly was. Peter’s bare feet treaded lightly on the hardwood, but Bucky could still feel him coming closer.

Smirking, Bucky planted his feet.

Peter’s lithe hands gripped the back of the chair and pulled, gently at first, though gaining strength and determination when the wheels didn’t budge. Bucky tried not to laugh as he pretended he couldn’t feel Peter yanking his chair with all his might, trying to pull him back far enough to make room.

“Lemme in,” Peter pleaded, his pouty voice addled with sleep. He must have only just woken from his nap. “Bucky, c’mon, lemme iiiiin!”

“Oh, sorry Pete,” Bucky said with mock-sympathy, lifting his feet and pushing his chair back, away from his desk. “Didn’t see ya there.”

“Liar,” Peter grumbled softly, moving with a dancer’s grace as he swung one leg over Bucky’s thighs, straddling his lap. Bucky pulled the boy a little closer to ensure he was good and snug, then rolled his chair back into place, one arm wrapped securely around Peter’s back, the other lifting his dossier to resume his reading, careful not to let Peter see it.

He wasn’t too worried. Peter was still half-asleep and very focused on other things, currently, like burrowing his face in Bucky’s neck and running his tired hands all over his chest. Bucky dropped a quick kiss to the boy’s bare shoulder (Peter was wearing a shirt, but it was Bucky’s, and it hung off of him like a tent) and ran his hand up and down his back, rubbing gently.

“Sleepy boy,” he praised softly, tickling Peter’s neck and shoulder with his stubble. Peter shivered in his lap, goosebumps rising all the way down to his bare legs. God, Bucky would never get tired of seeing his boy walking around in nothing but a pair of boxers and one of his own shirts. “Why don’t you keep napping if you’re tired, baby?”

Peter yawned into his chest. “Why d’you think ‘m here?” he mumbled, his cheek resting flat against Bucky’s collarbones. “Wanted cuddles. ‘S hard to sleep without you.”

_ Fuck. _

Bucky lowered his head, kissed the junction of Peter’s neck and shoulder. Peter’s skin was so smooth, he couldn’t help but open his mouth, taking that soft, peachy skin between his teeth and sucking, almost absentmindedly. Peter drew a sharp breath and writhed, but Bucky held him still easily, pinning him in his lap as he mouthed at the side of the boy’s throat until it bruised.

“ _Bucky,_ ” Peter whined. Whether it was for him to stop or to keep going, Bucky didn’t know. Either way, he could feel Peter’s dick tenting the front of his boxers, digging into his stomach, and that was all he _needed_ to know. “You said you had work to do…”

“I can do both,” Bucky promised between bites. He couldn’t keep his mouth off this kid for long. Peter already had a pretty impressive array of hickeys, but Bucky liked to keep them nice and dark. Peter looked good, spotted with his lovebites. Like the most priceless work of art.

The boy pulled away just enough to tilt his head up so Bucky could kiss him. It was slow, and gentle, the way he’d found Peter liked to be kissed. Peter kept his mouth open for him, let Bucky toy with his soft tongue, his own moving to tangle with the boy’s in the open space between their lips.

There was something about simply _kissing_ Peter. Something that went beyond the intimacy of even sex that Bucky couldn’t explain. Kissing Peter made everything tender, almost painfully so. His chest felt too small to contain all the love he felt whenever their lips met. He loved Peter’s softness, his delicacy, how his mouth was naturally sweet, whether Bucky was kissing him first thing in the morning or after dinner or in the throes of sex, it made no difference. Peter was _sweet._ Sweet and smooth and shy and all his.

When they pulled apart for air, Peter tucked his red face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him. His arms were lax around his neck; his legs loose and hanging over the sides of Bucky’s chair on either side of his hips. Everything about him right now was easy and relaxed, except for how hot his face was burning against Bucky’s neck, and how hard his cock was pressed into Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky smirked.

He had at least a few more hours of work left to do. He knew Pierce would be getting impatient any day now, and he needed to be ready to leave for his first assignment. There was research to be done, plans to be made. He had a rough idea already of what the best course of action would be to get the job done and get home as fast as possible, but a _rough idea_ wasn’t good enough. He needed this plan to be perfect, foolproof. He needed to know exactly what to do and when so that he wasn’t gone for even a second longer than he had to be.

He wouldn’t spend a second longer away from Peter than he had to.

So he still had some work to do before he could give Peter his undivided attention, but that was alright. Right now, it was even favorable - Peter was okay now, but by the time Bucky finished all he needed to do, the boy would probably be a desperate, needy mess. Teenagers weren’t exactly renowned for their patience and self-control when it came to sex, and Peter was absolutely no different. The boy had no restraint to speak of - he was a bit of a hair-trigger, had a tendency to go off without warning once Bucky started playing with him.

Which would make the next few hours all the more sweet.

Bucky picked his file back up and continued to read, keeping his other hand low on Peter’s back, beneath his oversized shirt, playing with the hem of his boxers. Peter sighed happily and nuzzled into his neck, as pliable as a little doll and just as cute.

Peter dozed for a while as Bucky read and rubbed the boy’s back in gentle circles. When he thought Peter might be slipping a little too far into _actual_ sleep territory, Bucky placed a trail of soft kisses over the boy’s shoulder, all the way up the side of his throat to his cheek, where he let his facial hair lightly scrape against Peter’s baby-smooth skin, rousing him.

The boy moaned and shifted in his lap, squirming as he woke up. Bucky kissed the side of his face - his cheek, his temple, the shell of his ear - and moved his hand lower to cup the boy’s ass, kneading the soft flesh there, smirking when Peter’s cock twitched valiantly against his stomach.

The moment Peter lifted his head, Bucky took his mouth in a hungry kiss, stealing a small gasp from Peter’s lips as his mouth was ravaged. Peter tried to kiss back, still bleary from his short nap, but he ended up simply opening his mouth for Bucky’s searching tongue, letting the man do as he wished as he blinked those sleepy doe eyes up at him.

Bucky massaged the sharp jut of Peter’s hipbone with his metal hand, delighting in the shivers that covered the boy’s skin. Peter’s face had flushed that beautiful peachy pink, his breath coming out in small pants when Bucky withdrew from the kiss.

“What was that for?” Peter mumbled. His half-lidded eyes couldn’t seem to leave Bucky’s lips, which had the man grinning.

“Just ‘cause I can,” he said, his voice quiet like a whisper. “I love kissin’ you, baby. Love how red you get when I do. Do I need another reason?”

Peter’s face flushed like he was embarrassed. Bucky trailed the tips of his metal fingers along the pronounced valley of the boy’s thin spine, petting him. “I guess not…”

Bucky smiled, coaxed Peter back into his embrace, gently rubbing his back as he continued to read. Peter eventually settled back down, lulled by Bucky’s warmth and his hand tenderly soothing him. Bucky allowed him to use his shoulder as his personal pillow as the boy’s body returned to its earlier relaxed state.

“Love you,” Peter said sleepily into his shoulder. Bucky hugged him tight around the waist and buried his face in the boy’s unruly hair.

“I love you so much, baby boy. God, you don’t even know. I would do _anything_ for you, Peter. Anything.”

He felt Peter smile against the bare skin of his shoulder. “Even stop working so we can go lay down and cuddle?”

Chuckling, Bucky set his file down and gripped Peter by the backs of his bare thighs, keeping him wrapped around his waist as he stood, exiting the office. “Yeah. Even that.”

—

Their home was coming together.

Some things were still missing. They had painted the master bedroom and ensuite bath, but the living, dining room and kitchen still needed work. The furniture they’d purchased in town had been set up, but the stuff Peter had ordered for them online had yet to arrive. Bucky’s office had a desk and a chair, and a filing cabinet he could lock to ensure Peter would never see the files Pierce gave him, but other than that, most of the interior decorating choices were entirely Peter’s.

He didn’t mind. Bucky was happy to give his opinion when the boy asked for it, and participate enough so that Peter didn’t feel like he had to do all the work, but in truth, he really didn’t care much what the place looked like. Peter was the one who’d be spending the most time here, after all, and while Bucky had his own taste, Peter’s happiness came first. Bucky was more than happy just doing the manual labor of painting and moving furniture and putting things up on high shelves that the boy couldn’t reach, and leaving the rest to his sweetheart.

It was almost comical. Peter was like an expecting mother, the way he was nesting. Bucky assumed it was partly because the boy had never had his own home before, and partly the nerves of living with a significant other for the first time and wanting to make it perfect, but the boy absolutely _fussed,_ about _every_ detail. Every rug, utensil, hand towel and wall art was meticulously chosen, agonized over, rearranged, re-evaluated, and so forth. Peter was almost manic about it, and Bucky _would_ be concerned, if he couldn’t also see that Peter was having a lot of fun with the whole thing.

The boy was happy. He was flourishing here, in the great outdoors, with Bucky at his side. He practically glowed as he moved about the house making sure everything was just right, and while they weren’t quite finished, by the end of their first week, their house was definitely more of a _home,_ instead of just a great big empty building in the woods.

Bucky divided up his time over the following week. A good portion of it was spent compiling his research and preparing to leave, because he planned to start his first assignment once the two-week mark hit, when he was sure Pierce would lose his patience. He spent hours in his office, careful not to let Peter see what he was working on, all the photos he’d amassed of his future victims. He told the boy he was merely planning for his first work trip, which was only sort of a lie, and fortunately Peter didn’t seem to suspect a thing.

The rest of his time, naturally, he spent with Peter. As close as he could get. They did everything together - he feared, more than once, that the boy would grow ornery and demand his space, but Peter seemed as desperate for his contact as Bucky was for his.

They ate together. They showered together. They cuddled together, watched TV together, slept together. They explored the property together, basked in the sunlight together. They painted together and assembled furniture together. They cooked together, they watched the stars together. Peter seemed content for it to never stop, and Bucky would die before he’d let it.

It was everything he had ever wanted, Bucky couldn’t even name his favorite part. He loved waking up with Peter - the unbearable sweetness, of that, of watching the morning light shine through their bedroom window and paint Peter’s pale skin honey-gold, the way his dark eyelashes would flutter like a butterfly’s wings against his cheeks as he blinked his eyes open.

Bucky loved him so much, sometimes all he could do was pull the boy tighter against him and cry silently into his hair. Sometimes he had to lean down and kiss the boy hungrily as soon as those amber eyes opened, unable to wait anymore. Sometimes he woke up still buried inside Peter’s body, and would wake him with the gentle motion of his hips, watching raptly as that face contorted in perfect pleasure, even in sleep.

Their mornings were perfect. But the days they spent together were easily just as good. He loved hearing Peter speak. He loved the way Peter got so excited about everything he could think of to say, the way he would chatter and babble for hours, while Bucky happily listened. Peter was sweet. He was _funny._ He was so damn smart, it made Bucky’s head spin. Every word out of his mouth only made Bucky more grateful that they met, that he got to have him, that Peter loved a creature like him. The days they spent together were indescribable for how much he cherished him.

Some days they went into town, though they were careful to dress Peter appropriately. The boy’s disappearance was still the number one news story playing on every screen. Thankfully, they still suspected Westcott - though of course, they hadn’t found him yet, and never _would._ He’d made damn sure of that.

Two days ago, they’d gone to the little diner downtown and ordered takeout. Peter had stayed in the car while Bucky grabbed their food, and then they drove west, up to the little lake outside of town. Peter had brought one of the new linens they’d bought, they used it as a picnic blanket as they ate by the water, watching the water fowl swim and play. They swam and laid in the sun, and made love after watching the sun set over the treeline. Peter had fallen asleep on the drive home, head tipped against the window, bundled in Bucky’s jacket.

That night, like every night, they made dinner together and talked and laughed as they ate. After they cleaned up, Peter hooked the laptop up to the TV (he was so incredibly _smart,_ Bucky never would have thought of that) and they watched a movie or some show Bucky had never seen, cuddling on the new sofa they’d bought. If they didn’t end up making love there, they usually did in the shower or bath, or once they retired to bed, or - more than once - all three in one night. Bucky’s stamina shouldn’t have been as high as it was, but Peter was so fucking _sexy,_ he drove him wild, made his blood pump harder and hotter, sometimes it felt like he’d be turned on for the rest of his life.

Every minute he spent with the boy was perfect. Every single one was his favorite, there was no way to compare them all. Even the “bad” moments - when Peter would see something upsetting on the news, or wake from a nightmare, or get so agitated that he said it felt like was about to crawl out of his skin, Bucky could always make him feel better, comfort him, make the hurt go away, and there was pleasure in that too, in its own way. A sense of purpose, of pride. Something he could hold dear, no matter how bad it started.

Which was why leaving for his first assignment was easily the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Do you have to?” Peter asked, his voice quiet and sad. He stood in his boxers and Bucky’s oversized shirt, clutching the man’s duffel bag to his chest, as if he could thwart Bucky’s attempt to leave by holding onto it. “The house isn’t even done yet. Can’t work wait a little longer?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bucky said, as genuine as he’d ever been. “I’ve already made them wait longer than I probably should have. I don’t want to leave either, but we’ll need money to keep the lights on and the fridge full. Please try to understand.”

The pout on the boy’s face killed him. Peter looked absolutely crestfallen, though he tried to force a smile, eyes glistening as he held Bucky’s bag out to him. “I understand,” he said, his voice thick, like his chest was too tight to push the words out. “I’m just really, really gonna miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you so fucking much, baby.” Bucky swung the bag over his shoulder and pulled the boy in by his waist, kissing him and hugging him tight. “I’ll call you every single day. You remember where you put the burner phone we got you?”

“Uh huh. It’s right by the bed.”

“Carry it with you, okay?” Bucky kissed his forehead, gently pushed his wayward curls out of his eyes. “I wanna know I’ll be able to reach you in case of an emergency or something.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.” Bucky tipped his face up and kissed him, gentle, the way Peter loved. “I love you so much. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay. I love you too,” Peter said. He was trying so hard to hide the fact that his eyes were wet, Bucky had to turn away and walk through the door, scared that spending even another second looking at that heartbroken little face would kill him.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, watching Peter wave sadly as he shut the door.

Bucky took two steps towards the porch stairs and stopped. He turned, looked back at the door. At the keypad beside it. He’d disabled the locks the moment Pierce left, but now, about to leave for _at least_ a week and a half…

What if…

What if.

Inside, some feral, desperate part of him begged him to enable the locks, terrified of the unknown, of what _might_ happen the moment he left Peter’s side.

But the rest of him knew his boy would be waiting for him when he got back, right where he left him.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky turned away from the door, got into his car, and drove away.


	19. Alone

Alone.

A state he hadn’t been in - _ever_ \- during the two, wonderful, blissful weeks he’d had with Bucky. He was familiar with loneliness, knew it better than he did constant company. It had never made him ache like this, it had always been a soft, dull sensation poking around the back of his skull. Now it morphed into a sense of anguish, beat itself through his brain and down his spine. It had only been eight hours since Bucky left, and Peter was laying on the kitchen floor, legs drawn up into one of Bucky’s massive gray t-shirts, held up only by his arms through the sleeves. His cheek pressed against the cold title, reminding him that their bed would be the same. Instead of rolling over onto a patch preheated by Bucky’s furnace-like body, he would fall onto frigid sheets. It made the back of his throat burn to think about, the tear lines on his cheeks already crusty and pulling the skin beneath them tight.

He had the burner phone pressed to his chest, had given up on making dinner while he waited. He knew it had to happen, that Bucky would have to leave for some span of time at some point, but he hated it. He wanted the phone to ring so he could hear the smooth rumble of Bucky’s voice over the line and know that this was all temporary, that Bucky wasn’t leaving him for good. 

The clock on the wall, made of burned wood and careful thought, ticked like it was just as impatient as he was. He jumped as the rice cooker whined, high but brief. He'd forgotten he’d put it on, was glad he could just eat plain white rice if nothing else tonight. He was thinking about mustering up the energy to make the chicken in the fridge when the burner phone lit up.

It got halfway through the first ring when he answered. “Bucky?” 

“This is an automated message from the Peter Stark Tip Hotline. We are calling to provide updates on the missing persons case and remind the public that any tips leading to the arrest of Skip Westcott and/or the recovery of Peter Stark will be compensated. Currently, police are investigating a sighting of Skip Westcott several weeks ago in West Virginia. There have yet to be any verifiable sightings of Peter Stark. Now, a message from Tony Star--“

Peter hung up. 

He could handle the objective, monotone update on his case - was relieved, in fact, to hear that there was so little for them to go on - but he couldn’t listen to his dad. He was already sad, he didn’t need guilt on top of it. 

The phone rang again. He was more hesitant this time, but the need to speak to Bucky was too great. He would just hang up if it was the hotline again. 

“Hello?”

“Hey baby, you doin’ okay?” 

“Better, now that I’m talking to you.” Felt his face heat at the cheesy line even though it was true.

Bucky chuckled, his voice gravelly as it rolled through the speaker. “Well, seems like we’re in a similar boat, then.”

Peter couldn’t help but ask, “Did you get that phone call too? From the hotline?” 

A sigh, deep and tired. “Yes, I did. I want to say you shouldn’t have answered it, but it could have been me for all you knew.”

“I didn’t listen to all of it. I stopped when my dad’s message was about to play.” 

“That’s for the best, he got heated again.” Peter heard Bucky shifting positions, the sound of his clothes sliding giving him away. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No…” _I’ve been too sad._ The last part of his thoughts he kept to himself, not wanting to come off as manipulative. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he was sad, and Peter didn’t want to accidentally suggest he was.

“Baby, you need to eat something.” Tone gentle, concerned, but not forceful.

“I know…”

“I know you’re sad, sweetheart, but I’ll be home in a few weeks. We can go do something fun when I get back.”

Peter bit his lip. “Could we… Could we go dancing?” 

Surprised. “Why the sudden interest in dancing?”

He looked away as though avoiding eye contact, despite being utterly alone. “Last time I saw Steve, he talked about how he used to go swing dancing with his friend. He didn’t say your name, but I was hoping it was you? I wanted to try it with you, but if you don’t want to--“

“Peter, I would love nothing more than to take you out to dinner and go dancing. We would just have to be careful. Go a few towns over, maybe even book a hotel and go out of state. Either way, if that’s something you really want to try, I’ll make it happen.”

“I - I really want to.” Peter had to bite his lip to keep from saying, _but we don’t have to_. He could let himself have this one, just this once. 

“We can start planning when I get close to coming home. I want a few days with you at the house before we go anywhere.” 

“We could just stay home if you don’t want to go out. Just put some music on and do it at home or something.” 

“It’s not the same, your first time should be on a dance floor. There's nothing like it, you should experience that first.”

“Okay, Bucky.”

“You still need to eat, Peter.”

Peter sighed. “I was hoping you forget about that part.”

He could hear Bucky smirking over the line. “Nothing slips past me, baby.” 

“Mhm, sure.” It felt good to tease Bucky, even apart. 

“Peter.” 

“I know, I know.” Peeling himself off the floor was a feat but he managed, already in a better mood with Bucky on the line. 

“There is some precooked chopped chicken in the freezer, along with a microwave steamer bag if you need something easy.”

“Thanks, I’ll try it.”

___

The rest of the week was quiet. Spending most of his time alone gave him room to think, room he didn’t really want. Bucky often kept him busy, too busy to think much on the things that bred doubt and concern for him. Without Bucky he was left stranded, on his own, with his only lifeline God knows where and only reachable through phone. Eventually he needed an outlet, something to hit the pressure release on everything. 

So, he wrote.

It took a few minutes to find what he needed. Packages had been flowing into their home at a steady rate, and it was hard to catalog it all when all the boxes looked the same. Eventually he found it - a packet of loose notebook paper and a box of different colored, high quality pens. Bucky had picked them out. Peter had never been terribly picky about his pens. Even billionaire households had their cheap ball point pens rolling around more often than not. Most of his letters had been written with pens from cheap bulk packs because he’d go through them so quickly. Peter Stark may have been the son of a multi-billionaire, but even he had a carefully budgeted allowance. 

He went to the small table in their kitchen, a rustic pine two-seater, and dropped off his cargo. He whipped up a snack, just a simple salami and cracker plate, before sitting down. 

The rainbow array of colors the pens came in was inviting. When he’d written Bucky and other inmates, he'd been stuck with black and blue ink exclusively. Being able to choose now was a small luxury that he was happy to take advantage of. He plucked a purple one from the package and a clean sheet of paper from the ream, smoothed the paper across the flat surface of the table before picking up the pen. The light taps of the pen against the table as he thought of what to write kept a steady, ticking pace. 

Peter touched the pen to paper, and he was off. 

___

Each note had something entirely different on it. Each with something positive and sweet, kind and affectionate. They were hidden around the house. All in places where Bucky would easily (hopefully) find them, but not obvious enough that they would be found all at once. He wished he had thought to do it before Bucky left. The idea of tucking notes into his car and between the folds of packed clothes would have been a nice way to remind Bucky of home out on the road. He would just have to remember to do it another time. 

He sat down at the table once again, took a moment to organize his thoughts into neat little boxes as he thought about if he really wanted to do what was next. The difficult part would be getting his message across in such a way that it would not be skewed - well, not skewed _too_ much. His words would be twisted and turned endlessly, but as long as the base letter was what it needed to be, it would just have to be okay. 

___

_Dad,_

_I’m writing this letter to let you know that I’m alive. I can’t say much more about the situation than that. I love you, I didn’t get to say that before everything happened. I know you’ll look for me no matter what I say, but I hope you take care of yourself too. I knew I would have to leave you at some point, I just wish it hadn’t been like this. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to reach out again. Currently I’m alone, and this has helped fill some of the silence and loneliness. I don’t have much to say, there is just so much that I can’t, and I don’t know what to put instead. I guess for now this will have to be it._

_With love,_

_Peter_

_____

The letter was painfully vague and he felt bad for all the false pitfalls he'd placed in it. Peter knew his dad’s mind would go to the worst place possible, yet that had, in a way, been the point. The longer he could keep Tony off of Bucky’s trail, the better. He didn’t like the idea of manipulating his father, but protecting Bucky came first. No amount of guilt could overcome that. Peter couldn’t help but see the irony in their positions. They had reversed roles. Now Peter was kept prisoner because of his father, while Bucky was free to roam the streets like he owned them. For Bucky’s sake, he was happy. Having spent so long in prison, Bucky deserved a sense of normalcy, and Peter would never in his life guilt him for having it just because he couldn’t. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that his father was overbearing and unwilling to let Peter make his own choices. 

He sealed up the letter and wrote the address he’d had memorized since the first day of kindergarten. He didn’t put a return address on it. Part of him wanted to stick the letter in their mailbox down at the end of the road instead of waiting for Bucky to take it, but the letter would be stamped with the nearest city’s location, and that was far too big of a risk. Instead, it was clipped to a hanging pin by the door. The letter wouldn’t be touched for weeks, but it would be ready for Bucky’s next trip.

With that done, Peter did what he'd been doing since this all began.

He waited for Bucky.

_____

Twelve days.

Bucky had been gone for twelve long, agonizing, grueling days.

Peter had spent most of it curled up on the various floors throughout the house. He didn’t know why it helped, but it did. Maybe it was just too hard to make himself sit up and act like a regular person when his heart was halfway across the country. He felt hollow without Bucky here.

But he didn’t feel hollow now. No, he was no longer sprawled across the floor like a dead body or a lifeless doll. Peter was eagerly pacing through the kitchen - the only room on the first floor whose windows faced out front – eyes glued to the small section of their driveway that he could actually see. He’d been pacing like this for an hour and a half already. Bucky had called to say he would be home before 8PM, and the clock on the wall was now reading 7:47.

Finally, _finally,_ at long last, there was a distinct _crunch,_ the unmistakable sound of tires rolling over dirt and rocks. Peter whipped around to face the window and caught the tail end of a silver car driving past. His heart raced. Bucky was home!

A door opened outside, then shut. Peter grinned and rushed for the front door, intending to wrench it open and throw himself into his beau’s arms. His socked feet skidded across the hardwood as he raced for the mudroom, but three loud, sturdy knocks from the other side of the door gave Peter pause.

He was fairly certain Bucky would rush in to see him, not joke around by making him come to the door. Although, maybe he had his hands full or something? He might’ve been knocking because he needed Peter to let him in. The thought made him eagerly reach for the knob, unable to keep the excited grin off his face.

But the smile didn’t last. It was wiped away almost instantly, erased like marker on a whiteboard the moment he opened the door and met the shocked, disbelieving face of none other than Steve Rogers.


	20. Caught

This had been the longest twelve days of Bucky’s entire life.

And that was really saying something, considering he’d spent ten years in prison, most of it confined to an 8 by 10 windowless box. Bucky wasn’t unfamiliar with the arduous, monotonous dredge of just plain existing. But for some reason, the sting of being away from Peter - of his lover being out of his sight for so long - made Bucky’s skin crawl, his teeth ache. He felt like an addict going through withdrawals. He couldn’t keep his cool, which was an absolutely _necessity_ for a hitman on a mission.

Thankfully, he was a pro. He took out three of the targets on Pierce’s list without a hiccup, crossing five states by the time he’d finished all the _clean-up._ He called Pierce on his way back to Indiana, stoically accepting the man’s brief approval, before he was urged to carry on with the rest of his list, whilst being assured that more names would be added soon.

Bucky brazenly informed Pierce that he would be spending some more time at home before heading west to take care of the other dozen names on his list, and hung up before Pierce could so much as comment on it. He wasn’t in the mood to face the man’s ire.

He couldn’t be bothered.

Because he was heading home, to Peter.

—

His excitement and joy lasted right up until the moment he drove around the last sharp turn in their driveway and saw another car parked out front. He almost hit the brakes in his shock, but the feeling was quickly replaced with dread. Whoever was here, Peter had  _let him in._

Bucky cursed himself as he hastily parked the car. He should have listened to his instincts. He should have locked the doors when he left. Even if it would have been tough explaining the situation to Peter afterwards, at least the boy wouldn’t have been able to let someone into their goddamn home.

He didn’t bother stopping to grab his bags as he bolted from the car and leapt up the porch steps. His heart was racing, half-panicked and half-enraged to think that he might be too late; that someone might have ratted them out and taken this from him, this life he had literally killed for. His heart was in his throat as he threw the door open, a torrential ocean raging underneath the calm guise he wore on his face.

He stopped dead when he stepped inside.

Steve’s back was obscuring his view, taking up almost the entire width of the narrow mudroom where he stood. He turned to look at him as the door opened, and there, behind Steve in the open doorway to the rest of the house, was Peter. The boy looked distinctly uncomfortable, but thankfully, that was all – no panicked tears, no pleading sobs, nothing. Bucky almost sighed with relief until he noticed the way Steve was staring at him.

“What are you doing here?”

If possible, the stink-eye on Steve’s face quadrupled. Bucky could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his friend look so offended. “What am _I_ doing here? _Bucky._ ” Steve reeled back with one arm and pointed at Peter, accusingly. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“He lives here. We live together, Steve.”

“Do you,” Steve said, a question with no punctuation mark. “Well thank God for that, because the rest of the world is in knots convinced that Peter was _abducted_ by a _rapist._ ”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Would you rather he was?”

“I’d rather you weren’t involved at all!”

“Steve,” Peter called, placating. “Please, give us a chance to explain. I swear this isn’t what it looks like. Why don’t you come in? We can sit and talk this through, just give us a chance.”

Steve turned and looked at Peter like he was seeing him for the first time, and in a way, Bucky supposed he was. He had only ever known the boy as _the son,_ the _baby Stark,_ Tony Stark’s prized and private little prince. He never knew him as a person, an adult, someone old and wise enough to make his own decisions and handle the consequences that came along with them. Some of the doubt lessened when Steve looked at Peter then, and Bucky’s heart swelled with how much he loved this perfect boy.

“Fine,” Steve said, after a long and tense silence. “Let’s sit and talk.”

Peter led them down the hall, into the finally fully-furnished living room. Bucky snuck glances at the finishing touches Peter had applied while he was gone; the art he had hung, the plants he had re-potted and placed here and there for decoration. It looked good. Homey. It looked like the opposite of what he imagined Peter’s living room looked like growing up, and something about that made his chest feel warm.

Peter took a seat on the couch and smiled as Bucky sat next to him. Steve’s jaw clenched as Bucky wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and pulled him flush against his side, kissing his temple below his unruly curls, and pointedly looked away as he took his own seat on the armchair by the window.

“Okay,” he said, sharp and authoritative and every bit the cop he should have been. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fixing them with a cold stare. “Start talking.”

Bucky kissed Peter’s hair again to let him know everything was okay, then pulled back and said, “We didn’t have a choice, Stevie.”

“Don’t _Stevie_ me. Not now. And don’t bullshit me either, Bucky. There are _millions_ of other ways you two could have handled this. Tony is out of his mind with worry!”

Peter flinched at that, and Bucky took his knee, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the top of his thigh to soothe him. “I know. And neither one of us is happy about that. You know me, Steve. You think I wanted to cause a nationwide panic? That wasn’t our intention.” He wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders, drew him in. “But Peter wanted to come with me and his dad – his dad would have used every one of his multiple- _billions_ of dollars to stop us if he knew that. We had no choice.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve argued. Bucky could tell he was doing everything he could not to yell. “You never gave him a chance to do anything else, Bucky. You just took his son without a word to anyone and ferried him 800 miles away. You’ve condemned yourself – how can you not see that?”

Peter’s body went from tense to rigid as Steve spoke. Bucky could feel him coiled tight, like a spring ready to shoot up at any moment. He barely caught the cold, steely look on the boy’s face before Peter was near-shouting, “Steve, this isn’t Bucky’s fault!”

Steve wasn’t one to balk during an argument. His ability to remain stoic in the face of backchat was one of his most admirable features, especially in their younger years. But something about Peter snapping at him seemed to take him aback, and he straightened up his posture and tore his gaze away from Bucky, looking laughably lost for words.

Peter, on the other hand, looked wound tight and ready to blow. Bucky’s heart clenched at the hurt look on the boy’s face. He never wanted to see his boy look like that, it crushed him. He gently pulled Peter into his side and stroked his leg with his metal hand, soothing him. “Baby. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Peter said, before Steve got the chance to. “He’s just like my dad. He thinks – he thinks I’m a _child._ He thinks you _took me,_ Bucky. He doesn’t even know us.”

“I know,” Bucky said, comforting. “But that’s why we’re talking it out. Right? Steve is my friend, baby. I’ve known him since he was smaller than you. He’ll understand.”

Steve didn’t bother trying to hide the doubtful look on his face, but he politely said nothing as Peter took a deep breath, in and out. Bucky just kept holding him, trying not to be openly resentful of the fact that Steve was here, thwarting him from having Peter right on this very couch.

After another deep breath, Peter’s shoulders relaxed beneath Bucky’s arm and he said, “I know you and my dad are friends, but you don’t know him as well as I do. Even if Bucky wasn’t…even if he hadn’t been released from prison less than two months ago – even if he was closer to my age or, or a girl, or, or whatever – he _still_ wouldn’t have been okay with it. My dad is really overprotective. I mean, you should know that – you didn’t even know I _existed_ until a few months ago. Why do you think that is?”

The look on Steve’s face shifted. Bucky watched, carefully, as the doubt turned inwards, turning on itself. Steve looked like he was momentarily at war with himself, which went right over Peter’s head as the boy kept talking.

“I know my dad loves me. I love him too. And I _hate_ that I’ve hurt him so badly. But I was so isolated, Steve, and it…it was on purpose. My dad doesn’t trust other people, _especially_ when it comes to me. Do you have any idea how many things I’ve never done or, or never gotten to try, just because my dad didn’t think letting me out – with a _bodyguard!_ – was safe enough? And then I met Bucky, and, and – ”

Peter turned to look at him, hurt, overwhelmed, and let Bucky hug him tighter against his side, his hands sweeping down Peter’s arm and up his thigh.

“ – And I knew he wouldn’t get it,” Peter finished, quieter. “He wouldn’t have wanted to get it. He would be against it immediately, without knowing anything about Bucky. He wouldn’t have cared. He…he wouldn’t have cared that we can tell each other anything, or that Bucky would never let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t have cared that we _love_ each other. He wouldn’t have cared that Bucky is – he’s – he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. My dad wouldn’t have _cared._ ”

“But you never gave him a chance, Peter,” Steve said, remarkably gentle, to his credit. “And that isn’t fair. He’s your dad. He deserves better than that.”

“Steve, I know he’s your friend, but from what Peter tells me, this guy was one bad day away from _microchipping_ Peter like a dog. If he knew so much as my name Peter wouldn’t be here. He’d be in New York, in that tower, locked away like a Disney princess, and you know it.”

Steve looked like he had a lot he wanted to say to that, but before he got the chance, Peter said, “If my dad ever bothered to actually _talk_ to me and was open to the idea of me having a relationship with anyone other than himself, this wouldn’t have happened, Steve. Neither of us wanted it to. We wanted to stay in New York. I _want_ to talk to my dad and have a good relationship with him. I miss him. But he was the one who didn’t pay enough attention to me to even realize I had met someone and fallen in love.”

The tears Peter had been fighting to keep in this whole time suddenly overflowed, and he wiped them away, messily, sniffling. “He’s my dad and I love him. But the thing _everybody_ needs to understand is that I’m an _adult,_ and he wasn’t good for me.”

Pride bloomed in Bucky’s chest like a flower opening up for the sun. A few weeks ago, Peter couldn’t even admit that his father had neglected him, let alone that their relationship had been unhealthy. Even after all the conversations they’d had about it, curled up on this very couch, or in bed, or at the dinner table or picnicking by the lake – not to mention the countless conversations through their letters – even after all that, Peter still hadn’t been able to say the words aloud, and here he was, brave enough for the both of them, speaking it into the world for the very first time.

Sniffling again, Peter wiped the mess from his face, leaving dried tear tracks clinging to the flawless skin of his cheeks. “You can love someone and still not be good for them. I know how much my dad loves me and how badly he’s hurting, but I’ve already done as much as I can about it. I wrote him a letter telling him I’m okay, and that just has to be enough for right now Steve, because legally, nobody can make me do _anything_ I don’t want to do, but that wouldn’t stop my dad from trying, or paying someone who doesn’t care. When you love someone, you have to be willing to let them go. I can’t have the relationship that I want with my dad until he understands that.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, stoic, processing, until he finally sighed out a long, frustrated breath and asked, “You wrote him a letter?”

Bucky was glad Steve asked so that he didn’t have to. He knew Peter _would,_ eventually, and supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Peter used the boredom and solace of Bucky being away to finally find the courage. He was dying to know what the letter said. But that could wait until he left for his next mission.

Peter nodded. “It’s hanging by the front door for Bucky to mail the next time he leaves for work. I tried to tell him as much as I could to ease his mind, because I really don’t want him to hurt anymore. But I’m _not_ leaving Bucky. I love him. And he loves me. And we’re happy here and my dad has no right to take that away.”

Steve ran a hand across his face, looking terribly earnest in his distress. Whatever decision Steve came to, right here, right now, would decide whether or not their lifelong friendship had run its course. He loved Steve - as much as he could love anyone who wasn’t Peter - but the man was lawful in the worst of ways, and worst of all, Tony Stark’s friend.

The thought made Bucky’s throat close up. He hated the thought of losing Steve. But he would not lose Peter. “I asked Peter to come with me, Stevie. That’s all. That’s the only crime I’m guilty of.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve half-said, half-sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and unable to even meet his gaze. “I don’t know about this. This is – it’s messed up. I get where you’re coming from Peter, I _do,_ but you’re eighteen years old. And Tony isn’t going to let this go.”

“Exactly,” Bucky said, holding Peter tighter when he whimpered. “He _isn’t_ going to let it go, that’s the whole point. Peter deserves to have a life. He deserves to be with the person he loves, the same as you and me. And until his father can come to grips with that and accept it, this is the way things need to be.”

“Please don’t say anything to him,” Peter added, begging. “Please, Steve. He will follow you everywhere. He’ll find out where you’ve been, by whatever means necessary. He’ll drag me back against my will and pay off anyone who tries to help me. I’m not exaggerating.”

Guilt and shame covered Steve’s face. But eventually, he gave one firm, quick nod, said, “I know you’re not.”

It was like a dam breaking inside Bucky’s chest, releasing all the tension he didn’t know he was carrying. He jostled Peter against his side again and said, “So you won’t tell anyone?”

Normally, a verbal promise wouldn’t be nearly enough for Bucky. But he had known Steve their entire lives, and if there was one truth to Steve and who he was as a human being, it was that he kept his promises, always.

Steve eyed him for a long moment, then looked to Peter, his line of sight following the arm across Peter’s shoulders, bridging their bodies together. The fight seemed to leave him slowly and all at once at the same time, seeping from him and disappearing.

“I want to go on the record and say this is a bad idea and it could go very, _very_ badly, for _both_ of you. I want you to understand that in my opinion, Peter – you should go home and face the music and tell your dad the truth, and give him a chance to screw things up instead of just _assuming_ he will. That’s my two cents. _But,_ ” he paused to take a breath, eyes sliding shut, like he didn’t want to face whatever he was about to say. “But, you also have a point, and I know Tony isn’t exactly the most…functional, at times. Peter, you’re only eighteen, but yes, that does make you an adult. And Bucky may be an idiot, but he’s also the best person I know, so at the very least, I know you’re safe here and I believe you when you tell me you’re happy. So in conclusion - though one of you _should -_ no. I won’t tell anyone.”

Peter’s face broke into that gorgeous, dazzling smile, and he looked like he was one beat away from jumping to his feet and launching himself at Steve in a grateful hug. Bucky held him a little firmer, just in case. “Steve, thank you, God, thank you so much.”

Steve returned the boy’s smile, though it was tight-lipped and half-assed. Whatever. It was good enough. His word had always been good enough for Bucky. “You’re welcome. I, um. I had planned to crash on Bucky’s couch for a few days, but…I think I’m going to head home instead. No offense, Buck. This is just a bit too much for me.”

“I get it,” Bucky said, giving his friend a small smile as he stood from the couch. “I know this is a lot, Stevie. You don’t have to explain.”

Steve nodded as he stood as well, letting Bucky lead him through the house and to the door. He stopped to eye the envelope pinned beside it, at Peter’s messy, boyish handwriting scrawling out Tony’s name and address, but with a shake of his head, he let it go, let Bucky politely usher him out the door.

“You be safe, Buck,” Steve said, for just about the millionth time in the course of their friendship. “I’m in even less of a position to help you now than I was back then. Be careful where you plant your feet.”

“I know,” Bucky said. He clapped the other man on the shoulder, sensing Steve really wasn’t in the mood for a full on hug right now. “He makes me happy, Stevie.”

A look washed over Steve’s face that was probably as close to _happy_ as he’d been since Peter answered the door. “I’m glad,” he said, genuinely. “But I’m also worried as all hell.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. I’m keeping us as safe as I can, Steve. You’re just gonna have to trust me here.”

“I do trust you,” Steve said. He headed down the porch steps, not looking away from Bucky as he said, “I’ve always trusted you.”

—

After watching Steve drive away – confirming, to some primal part of himself, that they were alone and safe at last – Bucky went searching for Peter, and found him in the bathroom, washing his face at the sink. He strolled up behind his young lover and drew him into his arms, squeezing him nearly as hard as he could, bending down to bury his face in that soft head of curls.

“I missed you so much,” he said, swaying them side to side a little. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. It wasn’t fully convincing, but he smiled at their reflections and met Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. “I missed you too, Daddy.”

Heat surged through his veins. Bucky felt his chest rumble like a lion getting ready to roar as he sucked in a low, pleased breath. “God, baby. We’ve got quite a bit of lost time to make up for, don’t you think?” He bent and kissed Peter’s slim neck, nipping at it lightly just to feel the boy squirm. “You still want me to take you dancin’?”

Peter giggled and writhed in his hold, but was totally, effortlessly caught. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he said, turning his head to leave sweet, chaste little kisses across Bucky’s jaw, up to his cheek. “I just want to be alone with you right now.”

Bucky smiled, looped an arm beneath Peter’s knees and lifted him from the ground in one swift motion. Peter wrapped his scrawny arms around his neck and clung to him adorably as Bucky pressed their lips together, carrying him from the room and up the stairs.


	21. Blast From the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made use of the E rating this week. Heed the tags.
> 
> EDIT2: I noticed some drops in bookmarks and so I put a few warnings at the end of the chapter and how to skip those things if you'd like too. They're not really spoiler-y but I put them at the end just in case.

The bathroom door was wide open, from the bed Peter could see Bucky’s reflection in the large wall-mounted mirror. Peter folded his arms under his head, rested his cheek against them, and watched his beau fuss with his hair. Completely nude, all of Bucky was on display for Peter to see, even hidden off to the side by a wall with the weird angles of their spacious master bath. He took a moment to admire the man he’d come to love with every aching fiber of his being. All hard angles, muscles packed so close together it looked like they were going to ripple out of his skin. The hanging line of Bucky’s cock kept drawing his eyes downward. Still wet but now soft, it was strangely… intimate. To see his Love bare, stripped to nothing but his own skin. A cheeky bite mark proudly displayed over Bucky’s left breast was mirrored and multiplied across Peter’s skin, hidden under the blanket. The realization that he was hiding while Bucky stood proudly in their home… it rubbed him wrong. 

He carefully stripped the blankets off of his body, vulnerable and small. He shivered as the cold air rushed over his skin. The AC blasting even now in the wee hours of the night. Peter slipped out of bed and on near silent feet, moved towards the bathroom as if drawn to it. The eyes in the mirror shot to look at him, hard and calculating before a sudden softness smothered them to death. The eyes of a predator settling on their mate. A smile, subtle but charming, graced Bucky’s lips. He’d heard of the classic “eye fuck” but this, the way Bucky looked at him made him think there should be a way to describe this vastly softer version. Bucky was openly soaking in Peter’s reflection, hands resting on the counter waiting for Peter to arrive. A raw, heart bleeding “I adore you” was the only words he could attach to the way Bucky’s gaze rolled over his skin, cataloguing the purple and red marks painted across every inch Bucky had managed to get his teeth on. It made Peter feel… attractive, loved, _cherished._

The cold title of the bathroom made him shiver, but Bucky was there, a beacon of warmth beyond just physical. Open arms welcomed him, helped Peter tuck into the comforting heat of the man he loved. He closed his eyes as metal fingers carded through his curls, the gentle way Bucky handled him with such unyielding strength brought a sense of peace. The calloused flesh of that right hand traveled down his back. Stopped, open palmed, just over his tail bone. Peter sighed, rubbed his nose against Bucky’s pectoral as the man worked over his curls until they were light and bouncy. Bucky’s cock pressed lightly into his belly, interested, but not hard. 

“How're you feelin’, sugar?” The sound rumbled through Peter's chest, even then it was said with a quiet reverence, as though Bucky was just as scared of breaking the fragile moment. 

“’M feeling sweet,” He whispered into Bucky’s skin, nearly inaudible. 

The thumb at the base of his spine rubbed soothing circles into his skin, kneading at the flesh. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” For once, tears didn’t threaten to come. 

“Wish I could stay here, keep you close. I don’t like leaving you here alone.” The fingers in his hair retracted, the strange but familiar clicks of the fake joints sounding in his ears. A nose burrowed into his hair, replacing the fingers with a deep breath. 

“Take me with you, I’ll stay out of your way when you need me too so you can work.” Knew what the answer would be. The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting something different, he knew he’d lost his head long ago with Bucky. 

“It’s too dangerous, sweetheart. If I drag you across the country someone is gonna look a little too closely at some point and it’ll be over, just like that.” His left hand gently pressed against Peter’s cheek, drawing him even closer as though scared simply talking about the idea would see Peter torn from his arms. 

“I know. I know you’re right, it just hurts when you’re away. It’s not your fault but- I wish I could keep you here with me.” Shoved his face further into the man who held his whole world in the palm of his hand. Peter would follow Bucky into hell and back without question, but even he had his selfish moments. He knew Bucky would have to leave again, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. “Maybe I should lock you in the basement, hold you hostage next time they try to call you in.”

Peter had expected a chuckle, maybe a head shake at the words. Instead Bucky wrapped both of his arms around him, pressed against him like he was trying to fuse their very atoms together. “Peter, if I could I would spend every minute with you, I would set this world on fire to make it happen. If I could give you the life I dreamed of, I would sell my soul to the devil himself to make it so.” 

The tears that had earlier been staved off came back with a vengeance. They didn’t fall but his lungs constricted like Bucky had squeezed all the air from him. He wrapped his arms around the broad neck above him. Was careful not to bump Bucky’s nose as he tipped his head back to really _look_ at Bucky. 

Those eyes, the ones he loved and regarded him with such tenderness, were terrifying. This was a man who would make good on his words if given the chance. Something in them hid a darkness. This was the person Bucky had to become to survive prison. Confronted with it, Peter inhaled sharply. It should have scared him, struck fear into him strong enough to send him running. But this was Bucky. The same man who held Peter as though he was the most precious thing he had ever witnessed. Who let Peter tuck his cold feet between his thighs when they cuddled to keep them warm. Who made sure to kiss Peter at least three times a day. Who called and milked every second he could out of his down time to talk to him. Who wanted to take Peter dancing, show him off even if they had to hide behind costumes to do so. Who had been willing to _take him dancing_ right after getting home from a eight hour plus drive if that would brighten Peter’s night. 

No, he wasn’t afraid, because whoever Bucky had to become to survive was not the man he was. 

He willingly lost himself in the intimacy of prolonged eye contact. They didn’t speak. Peter watched Bucky steel himself away from him at first. His own hands migrated to Bucky’s face, carefully tucked the shoulder length strands of hair behind Bucky’s ears. The Peter-shaped cracks in Bucky’s armor began to show. They softened gradually as he cupped Bucky’s face between his palms, ran his thumbs across prominent cheekbones, waiting to be let in. Lips dipped down to meet his, eyes closing for the kiss. Achingly tender, it was all skin and whispering breaths. Peter remembered their nudity when his cock began to show interest but he wanted to cling to this moment, one where they could just be. He held on tighter, desperate to stay in this safe, fuzzy space with his beau. 

Bucky’s hands unwound themselves from the hug and Peter’s stomach dropped. Bucky only stroked his sides, soothing as though sensing Peter’s worries. He pulled away a hair’s breadth, eyes drawn back to each other now open. 

“It’s just me, Pete. It’s just us,” Whispered like a secret, one just for them. 

A question rested at the tip of his tongue. Even unspoken Peter felt Bucky shift in response to it. Wandering hands settled on his hips and remained there. 

“I love you, Peter. Even if you only ever wanted me like this I would be with you. I know what you’re thinking, sweet boy. I can hear the gears turning in there. This doesn’t have to go anywhere you don’t want. I could just hold you for the rest of my life and still be the happiest I’d ever been.” 

He trembled, felt like his legs would give out from under him but he knew Bucky would catch him before he made it to the floor. This man could break his heart, shatter him to bits that wouldn’t be worth even attempting to piece back together. Peter would do anything for him, would push himself to lengths that would break him if it meant having Bucky at his side. It was a power they both knew he had. To have it acknowledged, remedied; he felt like he would burst at the seams from the sudden relief. A tension that had been thrumming through him eased. Bucky smiled like he knew, and in all honesty he likely did. 

“What do you want, doll? What do you want me to do for you?”

Peter licked his lips, embarrassed by his own wants. “Hold me, I don’t want to be alone when you’re here.” Didn’t know if his words made sense until Bucky spoke.

“Oh, darling-” Bucky softened like butter. “-of course I’ll hold you. Come here.”

Bucky leaned down and hooked one massive arm underneath Peter’s legs, another behind his back, and lifted. Hands tucked into his lap, he laid his head on the shoulder where flesh met metal. Kissed the points where they connected, held it, wanted Bucky to know how much he truly loved every part of him. Buried his face in the column of Bucky’s throat and stayed there, hidden and protected by a curtain of hair and a sturdy foundation of flesh. Pressed butterfly kisses here and there as Bucky carried him back to bed. He had to be set down in order for Bucky to crawl in beside him but soon found himself safely back where he needed to be, skin to skin. 

He drifted away like that, curled up listening to Bucky muttering in his ear. Sweet endearments and little quips. It sent him off to sea feeling sated and loved. 

___

“Peter, come here.” 

Popping his head out of the bathroom, Peter looked to see what Bucky needed. He caught a glimpse of Bucky dressed up for the night. Black slacks, a deep maroon shirt with a black tie, black shoes, and a pair of black suspenders. It was quite the dashing look. Bucky paired it with the loosely wound bun at the back of his head in such a way that felt uniquely fitting. Bucky held out a hand, ushering him over. 

“I’ve got something for you.” Bucky pulled him in once he got close enough, pressed a light kiss to his lips. Peter hummed into it. 

“Thank you.”

Bucky laughed. “That wasn’t what I was talking about but I’m glad you liked it enough to think so.” 

Something was placed on his head and he reached up to feel what it was. “A hat?” 

“Paperboy hat, I thought it would help sell the look.”

Peter grinned, ran back to the bathroom to look in the mirror. His own outfit consisted of khaki slacks, a white button up, a black bowtie, brown oxfords, and a waistcoat. Now tied together with a newsboy cap, he looked like he’d hopped out of the 1940s. Bucky came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, chin set on his shoulder. Bucky had to hunch to get low enough. 

“Looks good, baby.”

“Thank you, I love it.” His curls escaped on the sides here and there, a look he was honestly enjoying. The dance hall would be dark, so few would see much of him but that had been part of the reason in choosing it. Bucky had spent forty minutes applying contour in order to help hide Peter in the low light. He almost hadn’t recognized himself when Bucky had lowered the lights to see if it was enough. The artificial shadows looked obvious in the light but the shadows of the room hid it and made his face shape sharper, something he certainly wasn’t used to. 

Bucky kissed his neck, avoiding messing up his handy work. “I’m glad you like it, you look stunning. Wish we didn’t have to hide the rest of it away, I want everyone to know just how beautiful the boy on my arm is. Want ‘em to know you’re mine.” 

“I wish we could.” He frowned, really hoped that one day they wouldn’t have to do this. They were standing in a hotel room even now just to make sure they were far from home in case anyone recognized Peter. 

“One day, this all has to end. We’ll do something special when it comes time.” Bucky pressed a kiss just behind his ear before straightening. “We better get moving, they open in about thirty minutes and I’d like to have as much time as possible.”

They left just after that, picking up a light dinner before heading over to the dance hall. It hosted a weekly event that encouraged couples to dress up for the time period and stuck to the theme in its decorations and music. It was a little overwhelming for Peter, both because he didn’t know what he was doing and in part due to the fact he hadn’t been around this many people in what felt like years. Bucky guided him in, had his arm looped through Peter’s much smaller one as they found their own corner on the dance floor. Tucked away in the dark, away from the center, made the moment private and entirely theirs. He’d been to social events before, knew them decently well from when he’d been dragged to them, but it had never been like this. He’d been an outcast at those parties, the secret son of the man powerful enough to buy half the country if he wanted just for shits and giggles. He’d quickly been tossed aside once they realized he wasn’t going to get them any sway with his dad. The events had been mini torture sessions lasting for hours, complete with isolation and disgusted looks from party goers. He was used to corners, but he was used to them alone. 

Bucky used their illusion of privacy to get Peter warmed up. Showed him which way he should turn, the way touch was important to being guided. So much of swing dancing was knowing what each tug, drag, and twitch of the hand meant for your partner. All Peter had to do was follow, but he had to learn the signals first. Thankfully, Bucky was good at leading and gave Peter verbal cues until he could read Bucky’s intent. They functioned independent of the music and movement around them. Bucky unconcerned with what the rest of the crowd was doing as he pulled out the moves that, while easy on a technical level, were based around a large amount of trust. Peter’s favorite became what Bucky said was “The Princess Dip”. Peter got to point his toes and do one of those classic “trick” poses with a single bent leg as Bucky held him over his own. His hat fell off as his head hovered only inches from the floor. Peter couldn’t help but giggle as Bucky held him like that the first time they tried it, Bucky had dipped his head down to press a kiss to his tummy before vaulting him back into standing. Peter had to put his hat back on and with a few bobby pins pulled from Bucky’s bun they got it pinned into his hair so it wouldn't get dirty hitting the floor all night. 

Peter soon learned the difference between certain styles of swing when he realized that the way things were done in the south was nothing like those classic swing moves he’d seen in movies. Many of the moves consisted of Peter getting tossed around, and Peter was admittedly enjoying it. Maybe not as much as Bucky, who had a shit eating grin plastered across his lips the whole time they were testing out new moves and stealing kisses whenever he could nab them. He was enjoying their private little moment, which was why he was determined to stamp down his anxiety when Bucky asked if he would like to try actually dancing on the floor, in full. 

“We might as well put it all together, I’ll lead, just remember the cues and let me do the rest. Sound good, sugar?” 

Bucky could ask him for anything as long as he kept on it with the pet names. “If you think I can do it without causing us to crash into the hardwood…”

Bucky laughed, Peter really loved it when he could get the belly shaking ones out of him like this. “I’ll make sure you land on top of me if we do, I can take the fall.”

Grinning, Peter dragged Bucky from the corner and into the fray of bodies, listening to the _taptaptap_ of their shoes to slow his excitable heart down. They found a decent sized spot on the dance floor just as the current song ended. They waited. Peter nearly fell over laughing when the new song began playing. 

_Jump In the Line_ came blairing out of the speakers, entirely off theme but well received by the whoops and howlers of the other dancers. Bucky leaned down to whisper in Peter’s ear. 

“Change of plan, pop your hips, baby.” Smile evident in his voice as Bucky rested his hands on Peter’s hips. 

Peter squealed as Bucky scooped him up, spun him around before setting him back down. Hands on shoulder and larger ones on hips, the pair practically shimmied their way through the song in a circle. Peter couldn’t help but let the energetic rhythm roll through him, shoulders and hips swaying in time. Bucky didn’t seem to be resisting the music as he used his hands to guide Peter’s hips into over exaggerated steps and kept the energy high with large sweeping motions. It was such an easy song to get into Peter was out pacing the very man he was supposed to be following. It felt over too soon as the fade out began, Peter was actually disappointed to see it end but even he could admit that it was not a “dance all night” song with how much it took out of him. Bucky kissed his sweaty forehead, Peter was worried he may be sweating off the makeup from earlier but Bucky’s lips came away clean. He would have to ask what sort of witchcraft Bucky was working with to get the stuff to stay on so well. 

The night went on just like that, fast and slow, fast and slow, over and over until Peter thought he would fall over from the punishing pace. Bucky was only just starting to show signs of tiring as the last song swept through the dance floor. Peter put his all into that last dance, let Bucky toss him over his shoulder, hang him practically upside-down, and got in a few teasing moments of full body contact. Bucky’s eyes flared the first time he’d pressed firmly against his front. Gave a playful roll of his hips, feeling a little worked up after a night of being manhandled. None of the others saw but Peter danced away before Bucky could do anything in return, kept repeating the pattern until he was sure Bucky was going to bust a seam. When the song finally ended Bucky’s torment Peter was surprised by the seeming calm that swept through his partner in that moment. Usually Bucky would be all over him…. Maybe he was just waiting until they got to the hotel? Peter would have to wait and find out as Bucky made his way at an unhurried pace towards the exit. Suspicious, Peter followed Bucky out a side door that led out into an alley. It shot down right next to where their hotel was, they had passed by the alley as they went to get dinner earlier in the night, the other side of the alley led to the back parking lot. Bucky checked their surroundings before practically slamming Peter into the brick wall. Hands wrapped around the back of his skull to keep him from slamming it back into the hard surface and braining himself. 

“What’s the safe word, boy?”

Peter’s throat constricted, choking on the word as it came out. “Trenton.”

No other words were exchanged as he was pushed further into the stone work. Bucky grinding cruelly against him. It was the harshest Bucky had ever handled him, only made more so by the sudden, hard bite to his neck. Teeth pinched at his skin, pulled and rolled around until Peter could _feel_ the bruise being imprinted into his flesh. It was claiming, Bucky knocking his hips upwards hard enough to lift Peter’s small frame off the ground. Peter had to scramble for purchase, grabbing at the back of Bucky’s shirt. Pulled so hard he heard stitches pop somewhere near his fingers. It spurred Bucky on as if Peter had begged for more in that simple act. 

“Keep an eye on that parking lot, baby. Daddy is gonna fuck you into the pavement and if you don’t make sure every body is gone, well, some lucky dancers are gonna see just how well Daddy takes care of your hole.”

Shuddering, Peter felt as if Bucky had ripped the air from inside him. He obeyed, watched what little he could see of the parking lot, listened to the chatter and laughs of the other dance hall patrons. Prayed that they would clear out before Bucky snapped and took him in the dirty alley.

“Want everyone to know who you belong to. Want the world to see me fuckin’ your hungry little cunt and know I’m treatin’ it right. You’re a Daddy’s boy, through and through, aren’t ya? Want Daddy to make this sweet little hole nice and happy suckin’ on Daddy’s cock, don’tcha?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” He could hardly breathe, the pounding Bucky was trying to give him through their clothes was rubbing his balls raw. 

“How many we got left? How many fuckers do I have to scare off with all this noise before I can fuck you?”

Keening as the last thrust struck squarely on the puckered ring, he tried to catalogue the last few voices and footsteps he heard. Wondered how long Bucky had kept him hovering off the ground and on his toes like this. 

“Two, there are two, Daddy.” A whisper, just barely making it out of him. 

The growl that ripped out of Bucky was nearly terrifying, a hand grabbed his cock and squeezed. Peter’s forehead fell into the shoulder before him, clawed at Bucky’s back as he was manhandled. 

“This,” Bucky shook his cock, emphasizing his point. “this is mine. Your tiny baby cock is Daddy’s and he’s gonna make sure anyone who is passin’ by will be _sure of that_. Daddy’s only holdin’ back for your sake baby, I’d take you out there right now if I didn’t know your poor little cocklet would go all soft on me over it.”

The last car drove off. As if Bucky knew the whole time exactly how many people were there despite tasking Peter with it, he straightened as soon as it exited the scene. Slipping both hands under his ass, Bucky marched towards the lot. Face buried in Peter’s neck like he didn’t need to see to know where he was going. Forced little punched out noises from Peter as he practically mauled the point where his shoulder and neck met. 

Despite the sexual haze that always seemed to settle across his mind when Bucky turned into Daddy, he was acutely aware of his surroundings. All the cars really were gone. The backlot was small, meant for workers, and unlit. Peter looked for cameras, didn’t want to lose his life with Bucky because of footage of them fucking in a private lot. 

“Don’t worry, sugar. Daddy made sure there weren’t any cameras. It’s just us and the open air.” 

Wind was suddenly roaring through his ears as he was laid out _on the pavement_. Bucky stripping off his own shirt and shoving the balled up mass under Peter’s hips. One hand reached between his legs. The startling pressure of a finger pressing at his hole through his clothes made him jump. The realization that not even clothing could protect him from Bucky’s advances sent a shiver through him, his legs falling open in response. 

“Somebody wants cock, it seems. I thought you were classier than that, baby? Guess you’re just a dime store slut. Out here opening your legs for any man to see. Maybe we should have come out when there _were_ people around, let some of those men get a look at you. Bet it would make you nice and wet knowing there are men watching you get fucked on Daddy’s cock. I can just imagine it, your hole drooling as you get off to those men knowing just how bad you want Daddy. How far you’ll go just to get Daddy inside you.” 

The idea terrified him, but he knew Daddy wouldn’t let someone else see him. Knew that Daddy would first kill a man before letting them get a look at what was meant for Daddy’s eyes only. He withered on the pavement, feeling the scratchy pull of the hard surface on his clothes and skin. 

The sound of a zipper coming undone set his pulse skyrocketing. A hand slipped into his underwear and _ripped through it_ . In shock, he couldn’t even fight as his pants were pulled down his legs, spared the same cruel treatment as his boxers briefs. A tearing nose brought his attention back to Bucky, who was ripping something open with his teeth. _Lube, it’s lube._ The fact that Bucky had already been planning something pinged in his brain as the two blue packets were squeezed into his fingers. Slipping between his thighs, a rough finger probed until it found its target. Peter screamed as two fingers were shoved violently into him. 

“If you keep screamin’ like that baby, someone is gonna come lookin’.” Bucky didn’t let up, thrusting at his hole until the friction burned. “If I don’t get your hole all nice and puffy first people are gonna think I ain’t treatin’ this pussy right. You don’t want Daddy to look bad do you, sweet thing?”

Peter didn’t even know half of what was being said but he shook his head, blissed out on the rough treatment paired with the endearments he loved so dearly. “No, Daddy, want you to look good.”

“Like the best Daddy out there?”

“Like the best Daddy ever. Want you to fuck me until I can’t walk. I want you to make my hole sloppy and loose so you can slide right in when we get back to the hotel room. I want you to fuck me until you can reach inside me and catch all the butterflies in my tummy.” Didn’t think as he rambled, looking desperately to get what he wanted, what he needed. 

“Yeah, hun? You want Daddy’s fist deep inside you? Mixing up your insides nice and good until they’re designed so only Daddy can give you what you need?” The fingers thrust harder, pushing little ‘ah ah ah’s from Peter with each surge. 

He sobbed, nodding, wishing Daddy would stop teasing him and make his tummy feel full like he always did. “I want it! I want it! I want Daddy’s cock so I can see it in my tummy and know Daddy’s inside me! Wanna know that he loves me.” 

Bucky softened, suddenly and abruptly. Leaned in close, whispering. “Darling, Daddy will always love you, even when he’s not wrapped up in your perfect little hole. You’re my everything Peter, forever and always.” 

Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, too wrapped up in his headspace to understand anything but how _happy_ Daddy’s words made him. “I love you, Daddy.”

Foreheads pressed together, sharing the same breath. “Love you too, baby boy.”

With their places in each other’s worlds reestablished, the fingers were pulled and the baseball bat Bucky Barnes claimed as a penis pressed against the pouting entrance to his sweet boy’s body. Breaking character Bucky chimed, “Relax for me.”

That was all the warning Peter got before Bucky battering rammed his way inside Peter. The stretch was obscene. The wrinkles of his pucker stretched into taut, glossy skin as his insides were plundered. The thin coating of lube tried its hardest to make for a smooth glide but there was simply too much cock. Hilting to the base was fraught with friction but the moan Peter let out was that of a man taking his first sip of water in days. Full, so utterly and completely full. Peter rested his hand on the mound under the skin of his tummy. Tight as a drum, he imagined he could feel every ridge of Bucky nestled deep inside of him. Dug his fingers lightly into his own skin just to hear Bucky moan. 

“Daddy, you’re so big. You’re warming up my tummy.”

Something snapped in Bucky, his already threadbare control withering away as he pulled all the way out and slammed back inside. Peter grabbed desperately at the base, squeezing and forcing it to stay inside despite knowing Bucky could easily move, break the fragile control Peter had in that moment. Attempting to placate his baby, Bucky rolled his hips, stirring up Peter’s insides. A full body shudder ripped through him, felt endless as Bucky forced his thighs wide to accommodate his mass. Two massive hands dove between them, the pressure of Bucky’s thumb and forefinger framing his hole like they were sizing it up for a photo nearly had Peter coming right then and there. 

“So pretty all stretched out like this,” The pads of both thumbs pressed against his rim, demanding entrance. “Let me in, Peter.” 

He didn’t have time to even think about what was being asked before two behemoth thumbs plunged into him. 

“Daddy- Daddy!!!” Couldn’t think beyond what he was feeling and how Daddy _pulled_ at his hole, dragging the skin away from his cock as if trying to see around it and into Peter. 

“You’re taking it so well, made to be fucked. Made to take everything I give you and more. You’re only ever gonna be able to take Daddy. Any other cock would feel like nothing, just a lost explorer knocking around, there but tiny compared to such an open, waiting cave. You’re never going to know though. You’re mine, and so is this. I own this. You understand?”

Nodded. “I understand. Daddy owns my-- my-”

“Pussy.”

Sobbed his way through a breath. “My pussy, you own my pussy.” 

Each thrust was bone crushing, he was so full. Stretched to the max his body could handle and still taking more because Daddy told him to. He would do whatever Daddy wanted, even if it felt like he couldn’t do it. Daddy would never hurt him, he just had to listen. Just had to swallow it all up until it felt gooey and sticky in his veins like it did now. He almost didn’t notice the thumbs disappearing until hands appeared bracketing his head. The wet slaps of hips and the slimy train of his own precum across his groin was the only thing he registered. At some point his hands migrated back to his belly, feeling the rise and fall of getting fucked. His back sliding across the pavement and somewhere distantly in his mind he knew he would have road rash after this. His back would be torn up but Daddy would make it feel all better, make sure he was taken care of and babied until he fell asleep in his arms. It was a happy, cozy thought. 

The thrusts started to lose pace, knowing on instinct what that meant, he pressed down on the cock inside of him. Hiccuped through his own pleasure as Daddy fisted his cock in one of his hands, swallowing it whole. He blacked out as he came. Returned to the feeling of cum pouring into him. Happy and stated that Daddy had enjoyed his body, that he was rewarding him with a full tummy and pressing down on his pelvis so he could feel the fluid inside of him. He loved it. Shivered and moaned as Daddy balled up his ruined underwear and shoved it into his hole to plug him up. 

“You gotta stay nice and full of Daddy so he can give you more when we get back to the room.”

“Yes, Daddy.” His eyes had fluttered shut, he didn’t know when. 

Daddy pressed his lips to the shell of his ear. “You did so well, Peter. Scene is over, sweet boy. Let me baby you tonight, didn’t realize I tore your poor back up, sweetheart. You deserve a bath and some cuddles. Sound like a plan?”

“Mhm, love you.” Soft and still gone. 

A chuckle, comforting, familiar, and far off. “With my whole heart baby, love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are loved and appreciated! I read all of them even if I don't get to respond to everyone. I hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> EDIT: I realized immediately after posting this that it is Friday and that Sunday is two days away. I thought it was currently Saturday night and that I was only posting a few hours earlier. Enjoy my fuck up y'all lol.
> 
> EDIT 2: "Light Feminization" in the tags refers to the use of "pussy" and "cunt" being used. At no point is Peter called a girl or made to wear girly things. Neither the use of pussy nor cunt is meant to be used in a derogatory way, more just to ramp up the vulgarity. There is a bit of exhibitionism Bucky does get a bit intense and aggressive but Peter is reminded of his safe word before they start as a sign that if things need to stop, they will. Still, things are under-negotiated and I will add that tag to the work. Peter also experiences an intense headspace drop that some people may not enjoy. 
> 
> After all of that, if you would like to skip, everything after "What's the safeword, boy?" is what contains those themes. The only thing you need to know is that (SPOILERS) they fuck in a parking lot outside of the dancehall once everyone leaves. There are no cameras so no concern of being caught unless someone walks back there.


	22. Manipulated

Bucky knew that, eventually, mouthing off to Pierce was going to come back and bite him in the ass.

He was still a little surprised by how long it took, though. Bucky left for his next mission two days after he and Peter went dancing, and only needed nine days this time around to cross another four names off HYDRA’s list. When he returned home, he resolutely decided a break was in order, and despite Pierce’s consternation spent the next three weeks holed up with Peter in their home.

It was too hard being away from him. Bucky couldn’t stand the aching pit howling inside his chest whenever he and Peter were separated. He only felt like a human being when his boy was at his side. After all his years of military service, being captured and tortured during the war, returning to a life of more death and violence and then spending a decade in a high-security prison…Bucky didn’t often feel like anything more than a machine designed to cause human suffering.

But with Peter – with Peter, Bucky was someone else. He was human. He was a vessel of pleasure and love, reborn by the blinding light of Peter’s smile whenever the boy looked at him. When those doe eyes fixed on him, honey-warm and glowing with affection, Bucky didn’t feel like a monster or a machine of death. For the first time that he could remember, he felt like who he truly was: Peter’s soulmate.

To walk away from all that and drive across the country, killing fearful men who had incurred HYDRA’s wrath…it was harder than Bucky ever thought it would be. The killing never used to bother him. They were criminals, they were scum, they were grown men who played the game and lost. It never weighed on his conscience until Peter came along. It wasn’t that Bucky _pitied_ his targets – far from that – but he felt like the person he was becoming in Peter’s virtuous presence diminished and cracked a little more every time he left for one of Pierce’s missions.

Which was why he mouthed off at the end of those three weeks, when Pierce called him at the ass crack of dawn and demanded to know when he would be leaving next.

Bucky stumbled out of bed, trying not to wake Peter as he tiptoed down the stairs to his office. He shut the door quietly and growled, “It’s too early for this shit.”

“On the contrary, Soldier, this is well overdue. You have been _slacking._ I want you to deploy. To _day._ ”

Bucky gritted his teeth and paced in front of his desk. Pierce’s tone had entirely lost all semblance of patience that it once held. “I’ve cut your list in half since I was released, Pierce. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to do what you were _paid_ to do. That list was only the first of many. There are several more names to be added to it, and you are behind schedule. I thought I made my expectations very clear to you when I released you, Soldier. I want it _done._ ”

“I can’t exactly pack my car up and leave on a six week hunt to go chase all these rats down. I have to take care of it little by little, otherwise it’ll be too hard to explain.”

Pierce laughed without sounding amused in the slightest. “Why on earth are you bothering to _explain_ anything? I’ve supplied you with everything you need. A man three times Peter’s size would need a stick of dynamite to get out of that basement. Throw the boy in and be done with it. I’ll send someone once a day to feed him while you’re gone.”

The phone creaked under the pressure of Bucky’s metal hand. “You expect me to leave him with one of your goons?”

“James,” Pierce said, like Bucky was the stupid one. “The door has a slot for food at the bottom, and you’d be the only one with the key to open it fully. For heaven’s sake, they’re not even going to _see_ the boy. Stop making this very simple matter more complicated than it needs to be. Lock the boy up and finish your job.”

“I can’t lock him up,” Bucky said, realizing distantly that he’d never shown Pierce as much emotion as he was in this very moment. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t. He’d never forgive me.”

Pierce sighed, a long-suffering sound, like a parent who’d been saddled with an unruly toddler for too many hours. “Then you’d best get your story straight, Soldier, because the next time I call you, it won’t be to ask.” His voice dropped several octaves, the clearest threat Bucky had ever heard. “ _Do you understand._ ”

A short, emotionless, “Yes,” was all Bucky could muster up.

“Good.” The threat slipped from Pierce’s tone, just like that. Ever the two-faced politician able to flip on a dime. “Honestly, you give that boy even more freedom than we give you, it’s absurd. Especially after the little stunt he pulled when your old pal Steve came knocking.”

For a moment, Bucky’s heart stopped in his chest. “You…”

“ – Know about that? Don’t be stupid. Of course I do. Do you think _anyone_ gets within a mile of my enforcer’s front door without my knowledge?”

He supposed it made sense, but Bucky was still stunned by the revelation. He always suspected Pierce was spying on them, tapped into every line, spying through every lens, but until now, he hadn’t thought much about it beyond a haughty, _enjoy the show, you sick fuck._

Hearing Pierce actually _comment_ on what he’d seen during said spying drastically changed Bucky’s feelings on the matter. “You have no right – ”

“That’s an odd way of saying _thank you._ Who do you think has kept your little friend so busy these last several weeks, hmm? Not to mention Tony Stark himself, who, by the way, has gone from an arrogant little son of a bitch to a completely insufferable one ever since you ran off with his little princess.”

Bucky’s head felt like it was spinning on its axis. “What?”

“You let Steve Rogers walk out of your home after catching you with a billionaire’s missing son,” Pierce said, slowly, enunciating every word. “I consider that a bit of a liability, so I took it upon myself to monitor the situation in case Rogers gets any bright ideas. The city commissioned him to do some work – a ridiculously large job that will keep him preoccupied for months – while I’ve been personally feeding Stark false leads and information to keep him too busy to answer any phone calls from guilty-conscience-riddled loose-ends.”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if he could, given how tightly his throat had closed up. “…Thanks.”

“You are given far more freedom than any other member of my staff, thanks to your track record,” Pierce said. “If you take advantage of that privilege, you will lose it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then we’re done,” Pierce said, and added before hanging up: “ _Today,_ Soldier.”

The phone clicked, the call disconnected, and left Bucky standing silently in his office. His head was reeling. What the fuck was he going to say to Peter? He supposed he could tell the half-truth – his boss called suddenly, it’s a disaster job, he’ll be gone for a long time, maybe even a month – but would Peter buy it? Would he be upset, or worse, unwilling to stay here by himself for that long?

_What if he…_

Bucky shook his head, dispelling the evil notion before it could take root in his brain. No. He would _not_ let Pierce manipulate him like that. Not when it came to Peter.

Defeated, Bucky sunk into his desk chair, cradling his head in his hands, desperately trying to think of what to say.

—

Peter wasn’t thrilled, unsurprisingly, but he was understanding. He kept his head down, trying to hide how sad he was as he helped Bucky pack and load the car.

“You still haven’t fixed the trunk yet,” he said, not accusingly, merely commenting on it as he was forced to put one of Bucky’s bags in the backseat. “Do you want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty good with machines and stuff. I could probably figure out what’s jamming it.”

“Maybe when I get back, baby,” Bucky said, putting his overnight bag in the passenger seat and shutting the door, then rounding the car to the other side so he could pull the boy into his arms. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, lying, but Bucky loved him for it. “It’s work, I understand. This just shows your boss how good of an employee you are. Maybe you’ll get a promotion or a raise or something.”

Bucky huffed a laugh against the boy’s curls. “Yeah. Maybe.” He pulled back to tilt the boy’s chin up, cupping his cheeks. “You sure you’re not gonna be too lonely without me?”

“I’m lonely just thinking about it,” Peter said, barely louder than a whisper. Bucky’s heart broke in his chest. “But you have to go. I know you wouldn’t be if you didn’t have to. It sucks, but we just have to live with it.”

“I love you,” Bucky said, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re my everything, Peter Stark. One day I won’t ever have to leave your side again, I promise you that.”

“Deal,” Peter said, smiling, and kissed him. “Maybe we could…I don’t know, maybe we could get a dog or something, so it doesn’t feel as bad when you have to leave for a long time.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. “Do you _want_ a dog?”

Peter looked away, blushing. “I mean. We have all this space, this huge yard, even that big fenced-in dog run out back…we could have a dog.”

“We could, if you wanted one, baby.” He took Peter’s hands, lifted them to his mouth, kissed the backs of his palms. He held Peter’s hand in his own and guided him away from the car, around the side of the house, where the chain-link fence of the dog run started.

A thought struck him, insidious and hateful. The dog run was large – meant for big dogs, _multiple_ big dogs. The fence was twelve feet high and forty feet long, wide enough to let something large run around in the fresh air, exercising in full containment.

It twisted his stomach in a knot. The basement was big, but didn’t have much room to run. This, on the other hand, would be plenty of room for someone to run around, stretch out their cramped, aching legs.

_Especially someone as small as…_

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat and choked him, silencing the thought before it could fully manifest. He clutched Peter’s hand tightly and asked, “Do you think you could climb out of that thing?”

“Um,” Peter said, giving him a weird look, before surveying the height of the fence. His face set adorably in a look of deep concentration for a moment, then he decided, “Yeah, probably. I mean, it’s chain-link, so it wouldn’t be that hard to climb, I don’t think?”

“Hmm.” Bucky looked from Peter to the dog run and back, smirking playfully. “Do you think you could climb out before I could catch you?”

Peter’s eyes widened. He laughed, “Babe, there’s no way a dog could climb out of that thing! Even if it jumped that high, how would it get over the top?”

“Indulge me,” he said, opening the door to the pen and ushering Peter in. “I bet I can catch you before you make it over the top.”

Giggling, Peter walked to the other end of the run, shaking his head. “You just want an excuse to chase me around.”

“Now _that_ I’m guilty of.”

Peter’s eyes shone, even as he backed away until he was almost at the other side. “What happens if you catch me?”

Bucky thought it over, his face expressionless. Why was he doing this? Why did he want to know how fast Peter could climb out of here? It was never, ever going to be useful knowledge. It wasn’t practical. He already knew the boy was fast, probably even faster than him, if they were talking pure speed. He didn’t need to know just _how_ fast. He didn’t need to.

But the thought nagged, incessant. He had to know. He didn’t know why, but he did. He had to know, if he was at one end of the dog run and Peter was at the other, could Peter climb out before Bucky caught him?

“Well, we’re in a dog run,” Bucky said, grinning to try and ease the tension in his own chest. “So if I catch you, I’m going to fuck you like a dog.”

Peter’s face went tomato-red, soothing the torrent coursing through him. Bucky smiled lecherously at the boy’s shocked, aroused face, looking like he’d had his delicate sensibilities trampled on. A turbulent exhale left his lips, not-so-subtly shifting his weight on his legs as Bucky’s words went straight to his dick.

“I don’t see how that’s a win for only you,” Peter said, almost too quiet for Bucky to hear at this distance. “That’s what I was going to ask for if I won, too.”

Bucky laughed. He gestured for Peter to turn around and said, “Then you’d better get climbing.”

Peter turned, backing up a few feet so he could take a running start. “You’d better not start running as soon as my back is turned!”

That was exactly what Bucky did.

The moment Peter was moving, so was Bucky. He sprinted across the dog run as fast as his legs could go, knowing that, horribly, if this was real, the adrenaline would have him going even faster.

But the same would be true for Peter, who, despite being a faster runner than Bucky, only made it eight feet up the fence before Bucky was slamming into it. Peter yelped and giggled as Bucky caught his ankle, gasping when Bucky leapt up the fence with him and wrenched him off with an arm around his waist.

Bucky bracketed Peter’s body as he slid them down the fence, but the moment his feet touched ground, he wrestled the laughing, flushed boy to the ground and flipped him onto his stomach. Peter shouted and kicked, yelled, “Okay, you win, you win!” but everything was fuzzy at the edges, his vision, his hearing, his sense of touch, like his system had been overloaded.

He didn’t realize he was growling until Peter moaned wetly into the mud as he tore the boy’s clothes off. Peter jerked as he was laid bare, whimpering when Bucky forcefully spread his legs and hiked his hips into the air.

“W-wait, Bucky, do you have lube?” Peter asked, breathless from the tight position and being manhandled.

Bucky blanketed the boy’s entire body and bit his shoulder, _hard._ Peter yelped again and thrashed underneath him, but his cock was hard as a rock when Bucky lazily thumbed over it with his flesh hand. “Do dogs get lubed when they get mounted and fucked?”

“Oh _God._ ”

The whine Peter made was one of both pain and pleasure as Bucky humped into him. His cock was wet enough for the both of them – not to mention, Peter’s hole was still slightly loose and glistening from their lovemaking this morning. It took a little force to plunge the head in, but once it was, the rest of his shaft was sucked right in to his boy’s waiting, welcoming body.

Peter made a long, shuddering sound as he was mounted. Bucky sat up on his knees, metal hand tight around the back of the boy’s neck, keeping his face pinned into the mud. Peter was trying to push away from the ground with both hands, but Bucky didn’t let him – Peter knew his safeword. Bucky trusted him to use it, if he really needed to.

And judging by how hard and loud the boy was moaning, he couldn’t be hating it _that_ much. His little cock was bouncing and slapping against his belly with every thrust, and that was more than enough for Bucky. He gripped Peter tight by the hip with his free hand and bore down on him with his full weight, fucking him like he truly was trying to impale him on his cock.

The choked-out, pitiful noises Peter was making sent Bucky over the edge, blowing his load inside of Peter without stopping the brutal pace of his thrusts. He wrapped his right hand around Peter’s dick and jerked it hard and fast until Peter spilled all over the ground, shouting at the top of his lungs in a broken, slutty voice that sounded suspiciously like Bucky’s own name.

Panting, exhausted, Bucky sat back on his ass and brought Peter with him, cradling him in his lap. The boy was filthy – mud painted his entire front, his chest, his face, his hair. He was breathing hard, eyes closed, mouth panting, his skin still cherry-red and flushed beautifully.

Bucky kissed him, not caring one bit for the mud that stuck to his lips, and carried the boy inside for a hot bath.

—

Peter still had a towel draped over his head, utterly nude except for one of Bucky’s huge T-shirts hanging off him like a dress. He was sulky and pouty about Bucky leaving as they said their goodbyes in the mudroom, until he suddenly perked up and said, “Oh shit, wait a minute!”

He reached up and grabbed the letter he had pinned there – the one Bucky had purposefully forgotten, the last time he left for a mission, and held it out to Bucky. Tony Stark’s name and address stared up at him on the dusty white paper of the envelope. “Can’t forget this again. You’re still okay with mailing it for me, right?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky said, kissing the boy deeply as he took and pocketed the letter. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Smiling, Peter sighed into the kiss and happily accepted Bucky’s tongue when it prodded against his lips. Bucky pulled away before his cock could get any more interested in the activity, crushed Peter against him in a hug and said, “I’m going to miss you so fucking badly.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Peter said. He sounded so heartbroken, Bucky wanted to cry. “Please come back soon.”

“I will, baby,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

He had every intention of keeping that promise. If luck was on his side, maybe, just maybe, this mission wouldn’t take a full month or more. Maybe he could wrap everything up in three weeks and make it home before the isolation became too much for Peter. He had to try. He’d never been a religious man, but God, was he praying for some luck now.

The only stop he made was ten minutes down the road, when he pulled over, took the letter from his pocket, and set it ablaze with his lighter. He watched the ashes scatter in the slight breeze and mentally begged Peter’s forgiveness, before crawling back inside his car, shutting the door, and driving away.


	23. Softer Shades

When Bucky left he took the warm months with him. Still, for a New Yorker, southern winters were still fairly tame. He wore a sweater, sweats, and slippers as he stood out on the porch waiting for his beau to return. He’d gotten the call last night just before dinner, six weeks into being all on his own. Bucky told him he was on the road, heading home, and that he wouldn’t stop driving until he saw him again. Peter had barely been able to sleep, he'd cleaned the whole house and prepped dinner over 12 hours in advance since he doubted they would be doing much besides each other once Bucky was back. 

At eight AM he’d gotten a call again, this time with a particularly gravelly note that went straight to his groin as Bucky let him know he was an hour out. He’d been sitting on the porch since then, the chilly morning air prompting him to bring a blanket. He watched the gentle morning fog drift across the open field of their driveway. It turned off another back road, so far out from any main road Peter would have sworn they were the only humans in a hundred miles if he didn’t know better. The birds that loved the woods lining the back of the property had gone dormant, their songs leaving the morning air empty. A doe and some slightly smaller deer moved across the stretch of field that lined the front of the property, reminding him of the first day he had been here and the doe he had seen. Part of him wondered if this was her, if the smaller deer were babies she birthed not long after and now followed her into the coming winter. The two of them both truly starting their lives here, on this land so far removed from the rest of the world. He dozed off as soon as he let himself relax, dreamt of chilly morning air and strong, warm palms on his hips. He was startled awake by the slamming of a car door, what felt like mere seconds after passing out. 

He was still waking up when hands descended on him, shortly followed by the scratching of a beard across his neck as Bucky went straight to business. He threw his arms around broad shoulders and sleepily giggled as butterfly kisses fluttered up the side of his throat. Warm, solid palms -the same ones from his dream - slipped under his sweater, fingers splaying across his ribs. 

“Darlin’, you lost weight on me again.”

Peter flushed, hoping it would take him longer to notice, but Bucky knew his body better than he did and this was a given. 

“I’m just not as hungry when it’s cold.” A lie, they both knew it. The gentle squeeze of the hands around his ribs told him that they would be talking more about this later as Bucky dove in for a kiss. Searing and more of an “I missed you” than words could ever convey. The hands slipped down under his rear and hefted him up against their owner. Peter wasted no time tangling his limbs around his beau, giggly and happy as he was manhandled into the house. 

Peter expected the bed to be their first stop, maybe the couch, but Bucky took an unexpected turn. He pulled away to see where they were going, surprised when they found their way into the home gym. Bucky latched onto his neck, attempting to plant dark bruises all along it as Peter tried to understand why they were in this room of all places. 

About to ask that very question, he was silenced by his own moan as Bucky grabbed at his hips to thrust him against his chest. He felt mildly bad as he tugged on the long strands of hair at his fingertips, but not bad enough to stop as Bucky bounced him just to tease. 

He forgot his question as he was laid down, still well off the ground. Confused, he tried to assess what was going on. The yoga swing? He forgot they had bought it; the gym wasn’t exactly his room of choice in the home.

Bucky adjusted the fabric so it cradled Peter’s body. His legs hung off the side and Bucky trapped him in by inserting himself between them. It was the first time he really got a good look at Bucky since he arrived. 

The older man looked absolutely _predatory_. There was a light in his eyes that spoke volumes, implied that he was ready to practically ravage Peter. Entranced, Peter raised his arms as Bucky pulled the sweater off him and tossed it somewhere off to the side. His pants soon followed and the growl that ripped through the room single-handedly shot his cock to attention. 

He’d ordered a little something special on one of the numerous lonely nights without his heart. He had hoped Bucky wouldn’t check the charge to his debit card and spoil the surprise, and by the way he was behaving, it seemed he hadn’t. 

Peter yelped and clawed at the sides of the swing as Bucky lifted his leg and _bit the inside of his thigh._ It hurt, would bloom into an angry bruise later, but was a small price to pay for the way Bucky was rubbing his hands all over his groin. 

“Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? Got all dolled up for Daddy while he was away.” The lace of the boxers was thin enough that he could feel every twitch of Bucky’s fingers as they traced the delicate patterns in the red garment. 

The sound of a belt hitting the floor had Peter jumping. The gentle pressure of a palm on his sternum kept him down as the last pair of pants in the room made their way to the floor. Thumbs hooked into the lace boxers and they were pulled down in one smooth motion. He shivered as the light material ran down his legs and was thrown along with the rest of the discarded clothing. 

His leg throbbed from the bite, but it was grounding as Bucky touched him. Thick fingers danced around his rim, pushing just hard enough to let him know they were there, but not quite entering. The swing shifted underneath him, the slightest movement swaying his whole body. 

The pop of the lube cap had no time to be startling. The fingering he got was rough and dirty, eager to get to the main event. Bucky’s face buried in his neck, sucking, biting, and uncharacteristically silent. It made Peter wonder if he was okay. He didn’t have time to ask as fingers were replaced with something much harder and heavier. His body gave up without a fight, happy to accept the intrusion even after weeks apart. Still, Bucky was large and he felt it in every breath. Bucky’s hands grabbed the lines of the swing and the first thrust was far closer to a slam as the swing’s leverage enabled Bucky to pull Peter down against him, hard. Peter felt fucked raw after only a few punishing moments. His moans strangled and broken, unable to take a proper breath. So used to floating in his own head during sex, he felt flayed open and vulnerable in his own skin. Every pull felt like it was taking a part of him, but one he willingly gave up. Bucky was his heart, he deserved to take as much of him as he pleased. 

Bucky came with no fanfare. It painted his insides but remained trapped inside. Peter was boneless as Bucky stayed inside of him. Shivered and moaned as he was moved upstairs, back to their room where Bucky could have him safe and sound. A place easier to guard.

Bucky’s face never left his neck and Peter started to wonder if some of the wet trails across his skin were tears. 

___

They didn’t leave bed much for the first few days, content to just be with each other after so long apart. It never failed to remind Peter just how badly Bucky missed him. How they both seemed to miss each other with every fiber of their being. Separation felt like it was killing Peter half the time, he couldn’t imagine how it felt for Bucky on top of the stress of his demanding job. There were times (most of the time, really) that he absolutely despised Bucky’s boss for no reason other than the man (that much he knew) was responsible for ruining the little bubble he lived in with Bucky so regularly. 

Without fail, the first week Bucky was back Peter slept on his chest. It was comforting to be so close to him and often skin to skin. There were times he worried he was hurting the other man. He couldn’t imagine a hundred pounds of bony Peter was the most comfortable thing, but the one time he had tried to slide off, Bucky had readjusted and cooed at him, asked where he thought he was off to. 

His absolute favorite thing, the only one Peter would fight Bucky on if he tried to stop, was Bucky cradling him. After his breakdown over his father (the first time), Peter had sought out the soothing position anytime he could get it. He especially loved it now with the colder weather.

He was currently burrito-wrapped in a blanket, head and curls popping out but completely cocooned from the chin down. He was preening as Bucky showered him in affection. All bundled up in his strong arms, Peter felt tiny and protected. Knew that as soft as Bucky was with him that nothing could touch him without getting through his beau first, it was a heady feeling. One that he may have enjoyed just a tad too much. 

Bucky peppered kisses across his face, teased him by gently nibbling on Peter’s lip and pulling away before Peter could push for more. It was a sweet moment, so achingly domestic that Peter worried he would cry. He didn’t want to cry, not now and with all the joy it filled him with. Bucky was here, loving him. Knowing that Bucky was his and only his, that he was wanted and loved so dearly by a man who could have so much more, it liquefied his insides. Made him sticky and sweet, aching to show it, but unable to do more than giggle and burrow his face into the T-shirt Bucky was wearing. The same one Peter wore when he was missing Bucky. 

“I love you.” He couldn’t help but grin, showing through clearly in his tone. 

“Love you too, baby. To the moon and back.” Bucky’s words were backed by the same jovial tone as he tried to nip the smaller man’s ear. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were a dog with all the love biting you seem to do.” Thought of the puppy his distant aunt had. The one who liked to nibble on people to show affection, something he later found out was a behavior beyond just that one pup. 

“Close, guess again.”

Peter snorted, still smiling. “You gonna tell me you’re something else? More regal?”

“It’s pretty obvious, Petey. You know in your heart what I am.”

He took his time, just to make Bucky wait. He pretended it was taking him far longer than it was. In all honesty, he did know, knew exactly what Bucky was as soon as he’d asked. “A wolf.”

“Seems we’ve got a winner. Would you like a prize?” The shit-eating grin was audible. 

“Don’t need one, I already have everything I need.”

“Oh? And what would that be.” A kiss landed behind Peter’s ear and lips stayed there, lightly working over that small stretch of skin. 

“A particularly wolfish man who just so happened to steal my heart. I could lose everything else but as long as I have him, I’m set.” Peter knew it was cheesy, but turning up a chance to show Bucky how loved he was was not even a blip on his radar. 

“Seems I may have to go gut the competition. One thing to know about wolves, honey - ” Teeth scraped lightly across the skin behind Peter’s ear. He shivered. “ - is they’re highly territorial of their life mates.”

He tipped his head up, needed to look into Bucky’s eyes, to know that he meant the words coming out of his mouth, even if he already knew they were true. The gray eyes that reflected back at him were only _for_ him. Bucky wasn’t one to mess around when it came to moments like these. He’d tease, poke, prod - but when the words needed to matter, however little, Bucky delivered. The steel notes in those gray eyes never failed to put what they needed to out in the world. There were days Peter thought he could gleam everything he’d ever need from Bucky’s looks alone. They could be hard, scarily so. There had been rare moments in town where Peter could see something dangerous in the way Bucky would size people up, the look of a predator ready to defend what was his. Yet, a softness always prevailed when turned to Peter. Melted into something just for him. That look he got in that moment held that same liquid devotion he knew so well. Never failed to soften him up, even when he’d already turned to putty in Bucky’s hands. Bucky was truly what he said. A wolf, a predator, a man just trying to protect his mate. 

But for all their violence, wolves were loyal. There was never a doubt in Peter’s mind that he was the only one. For all Bucky was gone and away, he always had and always would come home to him. They were it for each other. It was engraved into his bones, coded into the very fiber of his being. It was why he didn’t think, not for a second, about the words that came next. 

“Will you marry me?”


	24. Honeymooning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry for this chapter...but I'm not so I won't :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky’s ears rang. The cozy, comfortable dwelling of their bedroom beat like an 808 drum in his skull. Seconds passed in heavy silence before he realized it was his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

Peter’s wide, worried eyes were staring up at him, waiting. The seconds were ticking away, but Bucky felt as though time was frozen still. He couldn’t look away. His hands were petrified, turned to stone on Peter’s body where he’d been tenderly caressing him moments before.

Moments before Peter asked him to marry him.

When he finally took his first breath, the oxygen expanded his lungs like a mushroom cloud, the air skipping from his open mouth like the puttering of an old car engine. Tears had filled Peter’s eyes, though the boy was trying desperately to hide them.

“Baby,” Bucky said. The word came out breathy, hardly louder than a whisper. “Oh, Peter...”

“I-It’s okay.” A weak, heartbroken smile crossed Peter’s face. A pitiful attempt. “Seriously, Bucky, it’s - I get it, you don’t - there’s...it’s...”

His face crumpled into a sob, making Bucky’s heart stop. He lunged forward, bending in half to crush Peter against his chest and press their mouths together in a searing kiss. Peter’s breath came out wobbly on the tail end of a sob, but Bucky swallowed it; pressed down so hard that Peter couldn’t make another sound.

“I love you,” he said against the boy’s lips, barely pulling back far enough to get the words out. “You hear me, Peter Stark? I love you. I don’t want anyone or anything else. Just you. You, forever.”

“I want you too,” Peter said, his voice still wet, despite the genuine smile that graced his beautiful face, hope glistening in his damp eyes. “That’s why - will you - ”

“God yes,” Bucky said. He couldn’t help but laugh. Now that the shock had worn off, it was so completely, absolutely ridiculous. How could Peter ever think he’d say anything else? “Yes, Peter, yes, I’ll marry you. I want you to marry me. Just the thought of calling you my husband makes my heart melt, I’ve been dreaming of it since the first time I saw your face. I never thought the day would come when I’d get to call you mine. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want every last person on this planet to know you’re mine, just as I am yours.”

The tears were flowing freely down Peter’s temples, into the wild curls of his hair. “You mean it?”

“I mean it.” He pressed their foreheads together, let his eyes fall shut. Breathed, in and out, inhaled the sweetness of Peter’s scent and the salt of his fresh tears. “I want to marry you.”

Peter wrapped his arms around his neck, squeezed him tight, burying his wet face in Bucky’s neck as they embraced. Bucky held him as close as he could, imagined the field of electrons and protons orbiting their atoms pulling together, magnetically fusing, merging them into a single entity like they should have been all along.

—

As wonderful as the idea of marrying Peter was, it did come with its downsides.

The most pressing of which was that, with them being in hiding, they couldn’t exactly _legally_ marry without alerting Tony Stark of their whereabouts. No certificate, no guests, no excessive, over-the-top honeymoon in Hawaii with Bucky sneaking Peter alcohol behind the resort staff’s backs.

That pretty much left them with a private ceremony, a private exchange of rings and vows, and a stay-at-home honeymoon where Bucky didn’t have to be sneaky about giving Peter alcohol at all. Bucky was honestly fully content with their plan - a giant, extravagant wedding was never something he really wanted, and besides Steve, he didn’t exactly have a long list of invitations to send out - but he suspected Peter was having trouble getting used to the idea.

Mostly, he knew the boy was missing his dad. He knew Peter loved his father and wanted him there to support him on his big day, and it was tough coming to terms with the fact that that just wasn’t possible. Bucky promised him that, regardless of what kind of private ceremony the two of them held, once Peter was able to rebuild his relationship with his father they would have a proper do-over, one where they signed the certificate and shared cake with their friends and family, a small, intimate, but more traditional wedding.

For now, since eloping was their only option, that was the plan they went with. They spent hours online shopping for their wedding bands, since the whole _engagement ring_ side of it was sort of moot now. Peter ended up finding an online shop where the owner, a professional metalworker and jeweller, would make custom, hybrid bands of their choosing.

Peter spent hours designing Bucky’s - a ring half-forged from iron, to represent his resilience, his strength, how protected he always made Peter feel. The other half of the band was oak, a red-stained wood that spoke volumes of Bucky’s dependability, his sturdiness, his giving nature - or so Peter claimed. The two bands were welded together by a thin strip of copper, which often caught the light and glowed flame-orange against the silver of Bucky’s left hand, a gorgeous, poignant choice on Peter’s part. The copper, he said, held ancient symbolism in many cultures; it symbolized love, and adaptability, and was a sacred healing metal to many different peoples throughout history. It suited Bucky, both literally and metaphorically - they spent quite a bit of time measuring each other’s fingers to ensure they bought their rings in the right sizes.

Seeing Peter’s beautiful, thoughtful ring made Bucky feel slightly self-conscious about his own choice. He didn’t have any great symbolism or cultural significance in the band he chose - he just wanted something comfortable and flattering that Peter would find beautiful. In the end, he chose a simple silver band with a thin, weave-like design etched into the metal, and in the dips and folds of the weave, twenty-four glittering sapphires laid flat inside the band - beautiful to be seen, but comfortable to wear.

When the rings arrived and Bucky presented Peter with his, the boy spent the longest five minutes of Bucky’s entire life just _staring_ at it. Bucky had just begun to think he’d made a terrible mistake when Peter lifted the ring from its box like it was the most precious, wonderful thing he’d ever seen, not even slipping it on, just holding it like reverently like that horrible goblin creature from those nerdy fantasy movies Peter loved.

“I didn’t have any deep, poetic reason for picking that one,” Bucky confessed, sheepishly. “I just thought it was beautiful, like you. I hope you like it, sweetheart.”

Peter had happy, glistening tears in his eyes when he looked up at him and smiled. “Did you know that silver is supposed to be a holy metal?” he asked. “It symbolizes love, purity, dreams and subtle strength. It’s versatile and charismatic. A lot of people think it’s feminine, but I’ve always thought it was very sophisticated. Especially compared to gold.” He smiled down at the ring, turned it over in his hands. “And sapphires - I’m not sure if you knew this, or if the website said anything, but - they symbolize love, too. Specifically, um...love and fidelity. They used to be the gemstone of choice for engagement rings before the diamond merchants took over.”

Bucky wanted to reach out and slide the ring onto Peter’s finger, but the boy beat him to it; he held his left hand up to the light and slid the ring on, watching as all those little sapphires glittered in the sunlight streaming in through their windows. “So...I did good, then.”

Peter looked at him, sharply, shocked. The next thing Bucky knew, he had two thin arms wrapped around his neck and squeezing, a deliriously happy, giggling boy straddling his lap and kissing his face over and over.

“You did good,” Peter said between laughs and kisses. “I love it. I love it so, so much, thank you Bucky, thank you.”

“Thank you for marrying me,” Bucky said, hands low on Peter’s hips, head tipped back to rest their foreheads together. “I know it’s not much of a ceremony, but I promise I’ll make it up to you someday, doll.”

“I’m happy,” Peter said. It was so quiet and sincere, it stole the breath right from Bucky’s lungs. “I’m so incredibly happy, Bucky, you have no idea. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

Bucky clutched Peter closer to him, metal hand cupping the back of his neck, his right arm slung around Peter’s waist, pressing him close. He looked up into Peter’s eyes, stared into the honey-warm gaze reflecting back at him.

“My only vow to you is that I’ll never stop trying to do just that, Peter,” Bucky said, a breath above a whisper. “For as long as I live, for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll do everything I can to make you the happiest person in the world. I swear it.”

Small, thin hands cupped the sides of his face, caressed the stubble on his cheeks as Peter gently nuzzled their noses together before kissing him. “My only vow is to love you,” he whispered back, his smile so soft, it made Bucky’s chest ache. “I vow to keep loving you as fiercely as I do right now, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. I vow to be the best husband I can possibly be, to make you happy, to keep you safe and healthy and never wanting for anything. I swear it, Bucky. That’s my vow.”

“Well,” Bucky said, forcing his voice to come out steady, to hide the crack trying to form in his throat where the happy tears were longing to flow through. “What are you waitin’ for, tiger? You may kiss the groom.”

Peter laughed, hugged him tighter, and did just that.

—

In hindsight, their honeymoon phase really did last longer than Bucky ever deserved.

It hadn’t even been a month since he came back from his six-week-long mission. In that time, they’d celebrated Peter’s nineteenth birthday, gotten engaged and eloped, spent a full two and a half days in bed worshipping each other’s bodies like they were starting their own religions - it had been heaven on earth. Bucky was convinced he’d made it, that his happiness couldn’t possibly swell any larger than it was right now.

Which meant, logically, of course, it had nowhere to go but down.

It started with a call, one that came far too early in the morning. Bucky had been standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee, naked as the day he was born and planning to stay that way once he got back upstairs and into bed with _his husband._ His phone started vibrating aggressively on the granite countertop, horribly loud in the quiet stillness of the chilly pre-autumn morning.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, sandwiching the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he poured his coffee.

“We have a situation.” Pierce’s unimpressed, no-nonsense tone clipped through the other end of the phone. “I’ll be at your front door in ten minutes.”

Well fuck. That _was_ a situation. “...Care to explain why, exactly?”

“Things have gotten muddled and I have a new assignment for you,” Pierce said. “Keep your boy toy out of the way when I get there, and for God’s sake, put some clothing on.”

The distinct _click_ of the other line disconnecting sounded through the phone, and Bucky looked up and glared through his kitchen window, his hackles raised at the blatant, brazen admission of being spied upon. His coffee abandoned, he took his phone and padded upstairs, careful not to wake Peter, still asleep in their bed, as he dressed himself.

He gently kissed the boy’s temple and shut the door tight behind him as he went back downstairs to wait for Pierce. He sipped his coffee as he did, trying not to choke on the cloying, uneasy feeling in his chest. He didn’t want Pierce here. He didn’t want _anyone_ here. This was their home, his and Peter’s sanctuary. Nobody else belonged. Nobody else should dare come here.

And yet, there was Pierce’s black Lexus, pulling up their driveway.

The man was accompanied by the same two cronies who never seemed to be far behind him. Bucky stoically let them in, not-too-politely reminding them to be quiet, Peter was still asleep upstairs. Pierce eyed him up and down as if confirming he was properly dressed, then said, “Is there a more appropriate place we could talk?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet and said, “Follow me.”

Pierce’s bodyguards stayed outside as Bucky led the man to his office, firmly shutting the door behind them to give them as much privacy as possible. Once they were alone, Bucky crossed his arms and waited, wondering what the hell could be so important that Piece had come all this way. “Well?”

“You letting Steve Rogers leave here alive has become a gigantic inconvenience.”

“Steve’s my best friend,” Bucky said, slowly, his tone chilled. “I wasn’t about to slit his throat because he found out about my relationship.”

“No, but evidently _someone_ will be needing to take the fall,” Pierce said, sniffing derisively. “In our attempts to keep Tony Stark occupied and away from him, the man has become...well. A _nuisance_ would be putting it lightly.” Pierce paced as he spoke, eyes narrowed into beady little slits. It occurred to Bucky distantly that he’d never seen the man so rattled before. “The false leads and misinformation we’ve been feeding him has come back to bite us. He’s clever, the arrogant son of a bitch. He’s grown suspicious. He’s withdrawn from me and every single contact I placed within his network. He knows something - the question is what.”

The man stopped pacing, abruptly. He turned and fixed Bucky with a cold stare, those same dead eyes Bucky had seen in his own reflection more than once. “He needs to be dealt with.”

“Dealt with,” Bucky said, skeptically. “Are you s--”

“Tony Stark is one of the few people in this world with enough money and influence to pose a serious threat to our organization,” Pierce said in that condescending, speaking-to-an-idiot-child voice. “If he is suspicious of me and my involvement in his son’s kidnapping, he has the resources and cunning to get to the truth of what really happened. Then _all_ of our heads will be on the line. I do not choose my enemies lightly, Soldier. The man is a problem. He is a threat. And he must. Be. _Dealt with._ ”

“He’s Peter’s dad,” Bucky said. For a moment, he could swear he saw Pierce’s eye twitch. “My husband’s dad.”

“Not the boy again,” Pierce seethed, clutching his temple like Bucky had instantly given him a migraine. “I _know_ you’re not going on about the _goddamn boy_ again. We have been over this, time and _time_ again. I will hear no more about it!”

“You’re asking me to do something that could ruin the only thing in this world I give any sort of a damn about,” Bucky said, stepping closer to Pierce and refusing to shrink away when the man’s steely gaze pinned him in place. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“If we don’t deal with this situation, Soldier, you’ll lose a lot more than your little pet, trust me.” Pierce stepped forward as well, until their chests almost touched. Utterly unintimidated. “Tony Stark will skin you alive for daring to breathe in his _darling son’s_ presence. You’ll find yourself thrown in some grungy lake somewhere while he takes his prize home and ensures he’s locked away in his tower forever. And in your final moments, before you’re lifted from the boat and thrown into the inky black water, the last thought on your mind as you struggle in your iron chains will be, _I should have killed him when I had the chance._ ”

Pierce stared him down, as if daring him to refuse. When Bucky said nothing, the man lifted his chin, victorious.

“See to it that it’s done. That’s an order.”

Bucky’s gaze stayed fixed to the floor, shoulders slumped as the weight of Pierce’s words sunk in. When it became clear that the man was waiting for a response, Bucky lifted his head, met Pierce’s eyes, and nodded.

Pierce turned to the door and wrenched it open, and both of them froze at the sight of Peter standing on the other side, fist raised as if he’d been about to knock. Peter’s face was pale, his skin chalky and lightly glowing with sweat. He stared up at Pierce, who towered over him, his eyebrows scrunching together in deep thought. “...Senator Pierce?”

The man’s persona switched in an instant; the politician, every ready to slip on their other mask. “Hello, Peter.”

“What...what are you doing here?” Peter asked, glancing from Pierce to Bucky behind him, every shade of confusion flashing across his expression. “How do you and Bucky know each other?”

“Well, as I hope you’ll remember, I have an invested interest in our incarceration system, especially when it comes to upstanding citizens who were _wrongfully_ imprisoned, such as Mr. Barnes, here. We were just discussing the final details of James’ settlement, making sure all the i’s are dotted and t’s are crossed, you understand.”

Peter looked to Bucky, and he nodded, hoping the smile on his face was reassuring and didn’t look as forced as it felt. Pierce gave Peter a friendly pat on the shoulder and said, “Well now, I really must be going. Take care, you two,” before he made his way down the hall and out the front door.

Bucky and Peter both moved to the kitchen to watch Pierce’s car drive away. Peter was oddly, painfully silent, and for the life of him, Bucky couldn’t figure out what to say to make it stop, or whether or not he even had the right to try.

—

The clock on their bedside table read 2:13AM.

Peter had been staring at it for almost three hours. Behind him, Bucky lay on his side, curled around Peter’s body, one arm loosely draped over his waist. Peter’s body was tired, aching with exhaustion, but his mind was a screeching hailstorm that refused to quiet down.

No matter how he thought about it, nothing about what happened this morning made any sense to him. Why would Alexander Pierce, a _New York_ Senator, have a personal, invested interest in a man who was wrongfully incarcerated in Michigan and lived in Indiana? Why would Alexander Pierce, a New York _Senator,_ have absolutely zero reaction to seeing _him_ \- a billionaire’s missing son, someone he knew and recognized - living in the house of an ex-convict?

And then there was the lying.

Bucky had said he’d already received his settlement for the wrongful imprisonment long ago - that was how he bought the house and all its furnishings. Not to mention the...the things Peter had heard, when he was standing on the other side of the door, gathering his courage to knock. He knew they were talking about his dad. The bits and pieces he could make out, it sounded like Senator Pierce really, truly hated his father. Maybe that’s why he didn’t care that Peter was here? But that didn’t explain the rest of it.

_ The man is a problem, he is a threat, and he must be dealt with. _

_ See to it that it’s done. That’s an order. _

When those cold, heartless words repeated in his head, Peter almost flinched. He knew what he had heard. He just couldn’t make sense of it. No matter how he looked at it, it sounded like…

Like…

The moon’s soft light shone through their bedroom window and glittered off his wedding band. Tears dripped over the bridge of his nose as Peter stared at it. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lie here and wonder and drive himself crazy thinking in circles. He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell was going on.

Slowly, he crept from the bed, out from Bucky’s arm, careful not to wake him. He tiptoed around the bed, grabbing Bucky’s chunky sweater on the back of the old chair in the corner and pulling it over his head as he left the room.

The first place he looked was Bucky’s office. The only place anything secret could be kept in there was the filing cabinet, but it was locked, and no matter where Peter searched, he couldn’t find the key. Next he checked the safes in the kitchen and bathroom, but both were still open and still empty. Lastly, he checked the locked, foreboding metal door that supposedly led to a basement, but it was sealed as tightly shut as ever, and Bucky had said they’d never been given a key to open it. Peter hated himself that, for a split second, he doubted whether or not that was true.

He stood in the kitchen for a moment, lost, frustrated, tired and confused when he saw them. Bucky’s keys, shining on the counter. The one place Bucky often went where Peter hardly ever joined him.

The car.

Silent as a mouse, he lifted the keys from the counter, toed on his shoes and went outside. There was nothing in the front of the car, save for a photo of Peter - the first one he ever sent to Bucky in prison, paper-clipped to his sun visor, Peter’s heart clenched at the sight of it - and nothing in the back except an old, rusty wrench lying beneath the driver’s seat. Other than that, Bucky’s car was spotless inside and out. It really was in impeccable shape. He almost put as much care into his car as Peter’s dad did into his.

Except…

Except...the trunk.

Which was still broken.

Fierce, nauseous anxiety raged in Peter’s stomach as he bent down to inspect the broken latch on the trunk. It was dark, too dark to see, but his fingers were slim enough that he could wedge them underneath the cover. He prodded and felt around until he found where the latch locked into its base...and felt the way it had been twisted, as if...as if by a wrench. A wrench, used to purposefully keep it shut.

Peter’s hands felt numb and clammy as he pried the trunk flap open with Bucky’s keyring and wedged the wrench inside. It took all of his upper body strength to untwist the latch, which ended up snapping off entirely, the metal worn down and stripped from being twisted again and again. The trunk flew open with force, smacking Peter square in the jaw and making him bleed, but he didn’t care about that. He didn’t even feel the pain.

All he felt was the fear.

There were tools in the trunk. Ordinary, everyday tools. There was also a shovel. A very well-used, dirty, muddy shovel. Bags. Gloves. And on top of it all, a stack of manila files, the ones on top seemingly newer than those on the bottom.

Peter reached out and opened the first one.

The inside was an information sheet, complete with a photo of a man he didn’t recognize. Personal info colored the page: birthday, height, weight, sexuality, hair color, eye color, license number. A description that felt inhumane for how impersonal it was. But the most terrifying thing of all: the page was obscured, half crossed out by a giant, thick, black X scrawled across it, an X that made Peter’s stomach drop all the way to the ground and made a single thought scream through his head:

_ This man is dead. _

His stomach rolled. Peter threw the file down, panicked. He reached up, frightened, not thinking, and slammed the trunk closed so he didn’t have to see its terrible occupants anymore.

But what he saw instead was almost worse.

Bucky, standing on their porch, watching him.


	25. Faith in the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to really quickly express all my love for the massive amount of comments we've received on the last chapter!! I wish I could respond to all of them but I (leopardtail) am moving in two days so I haven't had the energy or time to respond! Thankfully Ru is in charge of next week so there should hopefully be no interruptions to the upload schedule. 
> 
> Some of you may also have noticed that I listed that there are going to be a total of 27 chapters for this work. That may change but for right now we're looking at only two more chapters. Ru and I will most likely be doing a much, much shorter mini fic as our sort of "break" after Forever. Not quite sure yet what will be our next "Forever" so to speak but I'm sure we'll come up with something halfway decent lol. 
> 
> Apologies in advance if there are more mistakes in this chapter than normal!!

Peter had never once in his life been scared of Bucky, his beau, his _husband._ To feel it now was alien and felt like the reaction of someone else, something beyond him. It felt like the primal part of him and the part that loved Bucky were at war. Even with this horrible detail now illuminated by a spotlight brighter than the sun, Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty, as though he was the one doing something wrong. 

“Bucky -” It came out cracked and broken, the sound of someone hurt. “What - what is this, what’s going on?” 

Bucky had never looked at him with such a lack of emotion before, it was frightening. He hated it. Peter tried to take a step closer, but the second he moved Bucky tensed and moved down the porch steps. They both froze, uncertain of the other. He was still bleeding, he could feel it, but the way Bucky zeroed in on it had him touching it, trying to assess the damage. Bucky took another step forward and it took everything in Peter to stay put. He wasn’t blind, he’d seen just how much of a chase Bucky could give if given the chance. He hoped it didn’t come to that, it was a battle he was unlikely to win, but he’d try if needed. 

“Bucky, please, talk to me. I just want to know what’s going on.” 

Bucky hesitated, uncertain, before holding out a hand. 

Peter placed his hand gently in Bucky’s, intentionally moving at a normal pace in an attempt to show Bucky he wasn’t scared, even if he himself wasn’t sure of the truth.

Bucky pulled him in close, cradling him against his chest. “Let’s go inside. I...I don’t know how much I can say, but I hope what I can will be enough.”

He was sure that if his life was a movie, this would be the moment where the audience yelled at him for being stupid, that he shouldn’t trust Bucky after finding such damning evidence. But movies only show half the picture, and Bucky was a whole lot more than what could fit in a frame. 

Bucky sat him on the couch, carefully holding him as he tried to explain. 

“Peter, I had to make some deals when I got out. I needed a way to take care of you and I had some debts that needed cleaning up. I don’t want to put a target on your back. We already have your dad after us, and if sacrificing myself meant you could have something better, I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

“So you kill people?”

“Peter - ”

“James.” 

Bucky flinched. Peter had never used his given name, not once in the time they’d been together. He felt bad pulling it out now, but he needed answers. 

“Who?”

“Rats, men who were abusing the system. People who were far bigger monsters than I am.” 

“Bucky, you’re not-”

“Do you really believe that?”

Peter had to turn in Bucky’s hold, needing to look at him for this. He cupped Bucky’s face between his hands, laughably small when up against someone so large. “And what if you are one? What if you’re a monster? Are you going to tell me that nothing, none of _this_ was real? That you didn’t love me and try your hardest to make something normal out of an utterly fucked up situation?” 

“Of course not. Peter, I love you -”

“Then - then that’s all I need to know.”

“Peter, I know there are more questions swirling around in there.” 

“So what? I’m going to ask you to stop. We both know that, and either you are, or - or-” 

“I get the message, loud and clear.” 

Peter curled up, still reeling from the night even with his somewhat calm behavior. “Can we talk about this more in the morning? I think - I think I’ve had more than enough for one night.”

Bucky kissed his forehead, a motion he’d been through dozens of times, but for the first time it felt like there was something hidden behind it, something he didn’t know how to process. “Of course, let’s go back to bed.” 

\---

They didn’t talk about it the next morning. 

They both danced around it, acted like things were normal because for now, they were. Bucky was where Peter could see him, which meant he couldn’t be up to the things Peter feared. Part of him was upset with the fact that he couldn’t take a break, go spend a night somewhere else and pull his thoughts together. The other part was deeply grateful he couldn’t, that he was reminded just how much he loved his husband through the mere act of living with him. It would come up again, certainly before Bucky left again for “work,” ,but Peter needed a reason to fight for this relationship and he would gather all that he could to justify it. He loved Bucky too much to let him go without a fight, but this whole situation didn’t feel real, even when the evidence was staring him down and Bucky hadn’t denied it. 

He wished he could go back and stop himself from opening that trunk. It was a selfish want, one he knew would have meant more people dying, no matter how unworthy Bucky claimed them to be. He knew this, yet he still wished for it. Imagining Bucky hurting someone, it was alien, and at the same time it felt like a reality he was intimate with. It would not have been hard to turn the strength in Bucky’s body towards violence, he had just been blind enough to hope it never would. The gentleness of his husband in their interactions showed him that Bucky could control it, that he knew how to. It just made things harder when Peter realized it.

___

It took four days before they were forced to deal with the not-so-secret-anymore part of Bucky’s life. Days that were spent trying to relearn their own dynamic, to understand who they were now with this new information. 

Bucky was standing in the kitchen making lunch, a bowl of rice and a cutting board sat off to the side as Bucky worked on preparing a few chicken breasts. Peter was at the counter behind him chopping green onion and mixing up a salad dressing. It was a series of motions they’d been through dozens of times before, ones that felt shrouded in a heavy sense of guilt. Whose guilt it was, Peter couldn’t say. 

He hated it, hated the silence that felt like it was slowly attempting to kill their marriage. He felt like he couldn’t even touch Bucky anymore without somehow implying he was okay with what Bucky had done. This was his own home, the one he shared with Bucky, and it had been tainted by Pierce’s presence and influence. Bucky hadn’t said who his boss was but it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots with the shady behavior of the politician. 

He wanted to truly _be_ with Bucky again. Not just live in the same space. He left everything for the chance to be here and he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Even if it got him killed. 

Peter set the knife down on the cutting board, making sure the sound was distinct and audible. Turning around, he stared at Bucky’s back, his own pressed into the counter behind him. With a deep, shuddering exhale, he pushed off and strode towards his beau with all the feigned confidence he could manage. A single hand out, he gently ran his fingertips down the left side of his back. The muscles beneath his hand tensed before releasing all of their tension. The sound of Bucky’s metal arm moving ceased, cluing Peter in to the fact that Bucky had stopped moving. 

Palm pressed flat against his back, Peter moved his right hand to the other side and rested his forehead against the sweeping column of the other man’s spine. They held themselves there for a long, silent moment. A little braver now, Peter wrapped his arms around to cover the front, bracing Bucky’s ribs in a hug. 

Flexing fingers ghosted over the back of his right hand. The sob that escaped him was filled with relief as the digits intertwined with his, the metal hand mimicking the motion. 

“I never wanted to hurt you, Peter. If I could take away all this pain, if I could have found another way, I would have taken it.” 

Peter shook his head, tears disappearing into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. “We can’t wish for the past to change. As much as I hate it, this gave us something good. I just want this to end, Bucky.” He wanted it to be over beyond the killing, he wanted the block between them gone. 

A squeeze to his hands, an attempt at reassurance. “I can’t make any promises, Peter.” 

Peter felt a finger tickle the bottom of his palm. Confused, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” The tickling was harder. 

Peter got the sense that… Bucky was trying to tell him something, something he couldn’t say out loud. It hit him. Their home was bugged, even if that wasn’t what Bucky was trying to say, it was still something he was now acutely aware of. He knew better than to start looking around despite the urge hitting him like a ton of bricks. He nodded against Bucky’s back, hoping he’d understand, gave a slight squeeze to their joined hands as a little extra signalling. Hope filled him that the ‘no promises’ line wasn’t for him, but whoever was listening. 

A new concern came to light with the realization. They had no privacy in their own home. Suddenly he felt vulnerable, like they were on stage with a spotlight dead center on them. He wanted to run from the feeling. 

“Bucky, do you think we could go on a vacation for a little while? Just you and me and some quiet time to figure all of this out?” If he could get Bucky somewhere where it would only be the two of them, maybe he could get Bucky’s real thoughts and feelings on the matter out of him. Maybe they could form a plan to get away from Pierce and the ‘job.’ Bucky could finally have a normal life and Peter could join him in it. It was a dream, one he desperately wanted to come true. 

Bucky whipped around and wrapped him up in his arms, pulling him close. “Of course, baby. I’d want nothing more than that.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, turned his chin up so he could look at his husband. “Can we leave soon? Tonight?”

A pause, it stretched for several seconds, enough that Peter feared he had been too hasty. Bucky let him go and gently patted him on the ass. “Go pack our bags, I’ll finish lunch.” 

With a grin, Peter bolted up the stairs and started packing.

___

The grinding of gravel in the driveway sent Peter on high alert. It wasn’t Bucky, who was currently mouthing at Peter’s neck, trying to get a quick round in before they left. Bucky swore, hearing it too, and took off downstairs. Peter followed, scared but not wanting to leave Bucky alone. He hid in the second doorway, watching as Bucky stomped down the driveway towards the intruders. 

A set of doors slammed and a shudder ran through him as Bucky bellowed, low and dangerous. “What are you doing here.” A statement, a command. 

“Boss says time is up, Soldier. The puppy needs to go in the hole and your ass is shipping out. We’re here to take care of him.”

Peter shivered at the borderline growl that came out of his husband. “I’m not leaving some fuck-off goons alone with my husband.” 

“That’s what the basement is for. Pierce said we have to stick around, so either you secure him down there or he gets to run around upstairs with us.” 

“I’m not leaving him alone with you.” 

The man who had been speaking clapped his hands together. “Glad we’re in agreement then. If he’s downstairs then all we’ll be doing is meal service. No touching.”

Bucky fell silent, a fact that frightened Peter. No one moved. 

A sigh. “Listen man, we had three options to give you and neither of us really want to entertain the third. Pierce has his finger on the literal trigger here and has a guy ready to come and take out the pup before any of us could even say ‘fire.’ Trust me, as the guy on the ground here, I’m not keen on seeing you pissed off, ‘cause I’m the one who’ll take the fall. I’ll give you two a minute here but after that you’ve gotta get moving. Pierce wants you on the next assignment tonight.”

Peter’s head was reeling from the influx of information just that one statement threw in his face. Bucky started walking backwards up the steps. As soon as he passed the threshold Bucky kicked the door closed and turned to Peter. 

Desperate, pleading eyes broke his heart. He couldn’t help but cling to his husband, the man he loved, even with all the information he suddenly had to come to terms with in the last few days. Burying his face in the other man’s hard chest he sobbed. They clung to each other as Bucky moved them to the kitchen and closer to the basement. He sat Peter in a chair and kneeled in front of him. 

“Peter.” His name had never inspired such sadness, it was the sound of a broken heart. “Baby, my sweet boy, I know you’re scared -”

“Don’t leave me with them, Bucky -”

“I don’t want to baby, but I can’t see you hurt, either.”

“Let’s - let’s go to my dad. He’ll know what to do. He’ll-”

“The same man who would skin me alive if he ever found out you so much as knew my name?”

“But - but, we could try. He still loves me, if we could just explain to him.” He bawled, hard. “Please, don’t go.” Peter clutched at Bucky’s hands, held up towards him like a man praying for forgiveness, something Peter would always give him. 

“I have to, they’ll hurt you if I don’t, baby. I sold my soul to the devil so I could protect you and he’s coming to collect. I can’t run from the stupid shit I’ve done.”

He sobbed, cheeks red and angry. “Yes, you can! You can but you won’t! We ran from my dad, why can’t we run from this too? Why can’t we just say no?” He knew it was unreasonable and a horrible spot to put the other man in, but so was this bombshell that had been thrown into their life. 

“Peter… I can’t, not without a plan. This isn’t like when we ran away. There is more to the equation.”

“So then what do I do? Wait here with random men who are telling us you have to go kill somebody and hope they don’t do anything?” The anger was starting to show. It wasn’t for Bucky - well, it was, but not directly. He was mad, but it was at the fact that their life could never be easy, they couldn’t ever just enjoy it.

“I… I think you’re going to have to go in the basement. I can’t trust them with you and I’m the only one with a key.” Bucky’s eyes fell at his admission. It was one of guilt, a lie that he couldn’t speak the truth of, but was just another thing Peter would have to process. 

“What - what’s down there?” He looked over at the door to the basement, ominous and looming. 

“A cell. Pierce gave me this house and he designed that for me to keep you in. I-I never wanted to use it. I didn’t want to do that to you.” 

Bucky saying that… it shouldn’t have softened him around the edges, but it did. He couldn’t imagine Bucky wanting any of this. He prayed his heart was just as much a victim in this. 

“How - fuck - how long would I be down there?”

“If I work fast, a week, maybe two. I don’t want those men here or you down there.”

“I really don’t want to be down there, Bucky.”

“Please, Peter. We’ll move some things down there with you, okay? I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.” 

_But I will be._ It went unspoken between them. Peter whittled down by the heartbreak in Bucky’s eyes, knew that if Bucky could make this all go away he would. He hated what he was being asked to do, but if it bought Bucky time to get them out of it then he would do what had to be done. 

“Okay, but I-I want the burner phone. If they stop feeding me or find a way to hurt me I want to be able to - to call someone.” They both knew _someone_ meant the police. Bucky hesitated to answer. Peter looked down at their joined hands and rubbed his thumb over Bucky’s wedding ring. “Only if I’m desperate, only if I’ll die if I don’t. I don’t want them to hurt you,” He forced Bucky to look at him. “You’re still my husband, Bucky. I don’t care if we don’t have the certificate, you’re still mine and I’m never going to stop loving you. I’m scared, scared as shit, but not of you. I - maybe I’ll regret saying it, but I don’t care what you did before. When I fell in love with you I came to terms with the fact that there were going to be terrible things you’d done that I would never know about. I just need you to promise me one thing.”

“Anything, baby.” The hurt in Bucky’s eyes made Peter’s gut twist. 

“You have to leave whatever this is.” 

A deep, shuddering exhale flew from Bucky’s parted lips before he hung his head. “I will.” Said so softly only he could hear it. 

Peter tipped Bucky’s chin up, using their clasped hands to do so, before pressing a kiss to those well-loved lips. “I believe you.”

___

The basement was frightening, extremely so when he realized he would be down here alone. Bucky was neurotic, carefully arranging things and adding objects Peter hadn’t asked for hoping to make Peter comfortable. He doubted they would help, but he pitied his husband. The poor man was snarling and barking at the intruders and flipping on a dime to soothe Peter. 

He was anxious. Bucky had set up a bed space in the dark room and some different items to keep Peter entertained. Still, it wasn’t their home, and knowing that strange men would be stomping around their space made him queasy. He pulled anything he was worried about them taking down and into a corner. When it was time for Bucky to leave, he felt like the world was going to come crashing down any second. He held on for dear life, scared that this might be the last time he’d see Bucky. It made it hard to let go, the hardest of any of the other times he’d had to. He wanted to beg, cry, scream, but with the men watching them, he felt like they’d use it against him. So, he buried his face in Bucky’s chest and pulled in long draws of his scent, imprinting it in his mind before the most devastating good-bye kiss of his life. He couldn’t help but tear up as Bucky pulled away and retreated up the steps, looking back repeatedly. 

When the door finally swung closed and the massive deadbolt clicked into place, Peter truly wondered if this was a wise choice on his part. It certainly wasn’t feeling like it by any means. He could hear footsteps above him, and by the sound of it, Bucky was kicking the two goons out as he left. It helped Peter relax just a bit in the ominous space.

Now to survive until Bucky came home. 

___

They had stuck food down here for him just in case. The food slot was at the top of the steps and Peter refused to go near it until he was sure the men were gone. They brought him three meals a day, but he hesitated to eat anything that was not in a sealed package or that wouldn’t have been extremely difficult to poison. For the first few days, that meant eating very little until they caught on. Peter had nibbled at his stash during that time, hoping it would last. 

He didn’t speak to the men. They came and left without a word and he preferred it that way. It was easier to imagine them as faceless demons abusing his husband than as people holding his life in their hands. Although, neither description was truly false. 

They never stuck around long, always in and out like they were scared of something. Maybe Bucky had threatened them beforehand? Peter was regretting not asking more questions. Maybe Bucky had more sway than Peter realized. The only problem was based on the conversations he’d heard so far, Bucky wasn’t high enough on the totem pole to disobey Pierce. It made him angry to know that the man was able to control Bucky to this degree, enough that he spent most of Bucky’s alleged freedom calling him in for ‘work.’ 

The realization of just how many people Bucky had killed was a fact he had continually pushed far, far away from the forefront of his thoughts. He didn’t have the strength to cope with that detail on top of everything. It was too much to think about that and his long, monotonous week. 

___

Peter was woken up by slamming above him. Things were breaking, crashing to the ground with thunderous applause. It scared the ever loving _shit_ out of him. Scrambling to hide under the steps, he heard bits and pieces of the screaming up above. 

“Fuck…!”

“...Can’t believe-...”

“Didn’t think he’d really do it…”

“...Do now?”

“... Royally screwed…”

Obviously something had gone wrong, _extremely_ wrong by the sound of it. Peter prayed Bucky was okay, that this was an unrelated issue that the men upstairs were upset over. It wasn’t until he heard them trying to open the door that he knew Bucky had done something. The men wailed on the door to no avail. Peter tried to stay dead quiet until a deafening series of bangs ripped through the space. 

Peter’s ears rang painfully. Gun shots, they had just shot rounds through the food slot. They were trying to _kill him._ Between the slats he saw the marks of the bullets, thankfully too high to have hurt him even if he had been laying in the makeshift bed. Yet, nothing could make the idea of several fully grown men with guns attempting to kill him comforting. 

Shaking like a leaf, he listened to what sounded like a war taking place above him. They were destroying the house, presumably to find a way to him. The room meant to contain him may be the one thing keeping him alive. The iron of the walls too thick to break through. If he lived through this, he promised himself to go easy on Bucky in whatever came next for them. Being locked down here was terrible, but not quite as terrible as dying to the supposed army of men upstairs. 

They went on for hours. It felt endless, like there was nothing but perpetual fear from now until forever for him. It was frightening, to the point that his body chose numbness after the first hour. 

They must have decided to take a break after the first two hours, as nothing but the shuffling of shoes and muffled voices played for some time, as if the task of killing Peter wasn’t time sensitive, or at least could wait a few moments while they got their bearings. He hoped they left, gave up so that Bucky could come back and save him from the nightmare he had gotten them into. He didn’t know what day it was, had it been a week? It very well could have only been two or three days. He tried to count the number of meals he’d had, but the trivial detail was escaping him. He recalled about nine when there was a sudden, heavy thud. Two deafening seconds of silence elapsed before shouting broke out and thundering footsteps poured dust down onto Peter’s head. With wide eyes, he strained to hear what was going on, but it was chaotic, messy. Footsteps rapidly dropping off, peppered by similar thuds from earlier. 

The last thud was followed by an eerie, heavy silence. It made his skin crawl.

The sound of the door to the basement scraping open sent his heart pounding. He scrambled around under the stairs, looking for a weapon, before being stopped dead in his tracks by a voice. 

“Peter?”

He knew that voice, though it was different, now. Trembling. Afraid. Practically unrecognizable, but familiar enough - Peter knew it the moment he heard it.

He turned. The body standing in the doorway was silhouetted by the light streaming into the dark basement, but Peter knew him.

He’d know him anywhere.

“... _Dad?”_


	26. The Price

You reap what you sow in life.

That’s what his father always told him, what fighting in a war overseas taught him. No action is too small to have consequences. For every micro-choice we make, there is a molecular reaction waiting to follow. Even if you never see them, they’re still there, always. Your consequences.

Bucky knew this was coming, one way or the other. The shoe wasn’t going to stay suspended above his head forever. He had murdered and lied and convinced the naive love of his life to run away with him, and this was the price.

Peter, locked in that goddamn cell, left alone with Brock fucking Rumlow and his partner.

One thing was for sure: you’re never too old to learn. Bucky had foolishly, blindly hoped that when his consequences caught up to him, he’d be the only one to get hurt. He was so certain he’d be able to shield Peter from ever being in harm’s way. But life isn’t kind or just like that, not really, and if Peter was the one thing Bucky needed to protect, then life saw fit that it should be Peter taking the fall for every terrible thing Bucky had ever done.

His hands clenched the steering wheel until it cracked beneath his metal palm.

Peter was paying the price for him, but not for long. If these were the consequences for Bucky’s actions, his divine punishment, so be it. There was comfort in knowing there would be consequences for Pierce and the rest of HYDRA too.

Bucky planned to make sure of it.

—

He drove straight through to New York. The longer this took him, the longer Peter would be confined with those monsters. He stopped only for gas, not eating, sleeping, or pulling over to stretch his legs until he’d passed through New Jersey. Only when he reached the motel in Hell’s Kitchen did he pause and actually _breathe_ for a moment.

The car was definitely tracked. His phone, too. Pierce probably had someone sit and watch him drive all the way here, marking the duration of his stops to ensure he wasn’t ripping apart the seats to find the tracker. Any call he’d make would be tapped and recorded. They’d be watching him.

Which was why it took a full week of planning.

It wasn’t his style, but the only way to kill such a high priority target was to lay a trap - especially when said target was nowhere to be found. Bucky spent days gathering the necessary equipment, the devices and transportation he needed but had to obtain quietly, avoiding Pierce’s watchful eye. Not to mention the days he spent scoping out the perfect place, ensuring it was public enough to be feasible as a rendezvous point, but private enough that he could do what needed to be done.

In the end he chose a very small, sequestered corner of Central Park - one he doubted even the park rangers were aware of. It looked like it had been carved out of the densest part of the forest by some kids looking to make a clubhouse or some homeless people setting up camp. The clearing was wide enough to not feel claustrophobic, but small enough that there would be nowhere to run.

He jotted down the exact coordinates, pulled out his phone, and called the number he’d ignored a thousand times but never deleted.

_“You’ve reached the Peter Stark Tip Hotline. For information regarding the whereabouts of Peter Stark or to report a sighting, please press one.”_

Bucky pressed the button without moving the phone from his ear. It didn’t have a chance to ring before a young woman was answering. “Hello, you’ve reached Kate from the Peter Stark Tip Hotline, do you have any information pertaining to the disappearance of Peter Stark to report?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’ll only give it to Tony Stark himself.”

There was a moment of silence. “Sir, I have to verify that any information you have is factual and authentic, I can’t just transfer you to - ”

“I can prove it,” Bucky said, impatient, but fully aware of just how much he would have to fuck himself over to see this through. “I can send you a photo. But he’ll have to be the one to confirm it was taken recently. I’m sure he’s scanned every photo of Peter ever taken, by now.”

Again, the girl on the other end of the line said nothing for what felt like a short eternity. Bucky idly tipped his head back to look up at the sky, expecting the helicopters at any moment.

“Hold, please.”

The phone clicked, followed by eerie silence. Bucky sighed and paced around the small clearing, listening for any signs of law enforcement or private militia that would undoubtedly be sent after him. After several minutes of dead air, the phone clicked once more, and the worse-for-wear gruff voice of Tony Stark himself answered, “I’ve been told you have information?”

 _Well, hello to you too._ “I do.”

“Don’t feel obligated to wait for an invitation or anything - I’m all ears.”

Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I can tell you where your son is, Stark,” he said carefully. “But I can only tell you face to face.”

Tony’s voice came out smooth and untroubled, except for all the ways it very much wasn’t. “Let me guess - you want me to sign something? An autograph, a cheque, a contract handing over all my assets? Is that it?”

“I’m being watched.”

 _That_ shut him up. Bucky silently took a long breath and looked skyward again. He wondered who would get here first - Stark or Pierce.

The man’s voice was shaky when he finally spoke up again. “You can’t tell me where he is over the phone, can you?”

“I’ve already said too much,” he replied. “My phone is tapped. My car was followed too, most likely. They’ll be coming for me soon. I can outrun them until maybe tomorrow - if you can meet with me then, I’ll tell you where Peter is.”

“Kid, do us both a favor and just go to the cops.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. For a genius, Tony Stark was almost comically dense. “The people I work for - the ones I’m fucking over - they have moles everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have agents on the force as well.” Not to mention within Tony’s own company, but Bucky didn’t say that part out loud. Not yet.

The sounds on the other end of the line were subtle, but Bucky was able to pick up on them anyway - the quiet scurry of urgent feet across the floor, the obedient murmurs, the rapid tapping of fingertips against touchscreen devices.

“Tell me where and when you want to meet.”

“You’ll have to come alone. I won’t reveal myself if you show up with an army, Stark.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” Tony snapped, rude, impatient. “We’re doing this your way, just like you want, okay? Now give me the location.”

Around him, Central Park had gone quiet as a cemetery.

“Tomorrow at noon,” Bucky said, scarcely above a whisper. “I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Tony rattled off a private number for him to text the information to, and Bucky did, pressing his back against the thickest tree bordering the edge of the clearing while he typed it into his phone and hit send. He couldn’t hear or see anyone, but the hair was standing up on the back of his neck, alarm bells ringing in his head. As soon as the message finished sending he took his phone and snapped it in half, then threw it on the ground at his feet. He didn’t trust Stark not to send the FBI converging on his location, and it had already served its purpose in this plan.

He was quick and light-footed as he left the park. It was emptier than he had ever seen it; whoever was patrolling the entrances and trying to empty the civilians out of it had clearly done a very good job. Still, Bucky knew how to travel unseen; knew which entrances were harder to guard and offered more cover, knew how to blend in with the treeline to avoid being spotted by overhead snipers. Central Park offered more cover to move around in than every warzone he’d ever fought in combined, so he didn’t have much trouble making it back to the streets unnoticed.

By the time he stepped onto the sidewalk outside the entrance, two helicopters were already flying overhead, the streets filled with the sound of police sirens inching their way closer to him.

He didn’t wait to find out whether Stark had called the cops or Pierce had sent his spies. He pulled his hood up over his head, bee-lined for his car, and drove back to his motel room in Hell’s Kitchen.

—

There were two men waiting for him in his room when he unlocked the door.

Neither looked happy. Both looked like they had come prepared for a fight. Bucky eyed their poorly-concealed holsters doubtfully and entered his room without a hint of hesitation. This was all part of the plan, and this, this moment, was easily the most crucial one of all. He had to perform perfectly. Any hint or sign of dishonesty, and Peter would be dead.

He shrugged off his jacket and hooded sweatshirt, pointedly placing both, as well as his keys and his gun, on the dresser across from the bed.

The HYDRA agents stared for a long, tense moment, then one said, “Pierce wants to know just what the hell you think you’re doing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, like he had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m setting a trap for Tony Stark so I can deal with him like I was ordered to.”

“Are you?” the man said, distrustfully. “Because you sounded pretty sincere on the phone, Soldier. You came damn close to revealing HYDRA to one of the most powerful men alive.”

“Tomorrow at noon he’ll be one of the most powerful men _dead._ I know what I’m doing. The only way I was going to sound sincere enough to convince him to meet with me was if I told the truth. I spent nearly four days scoping out Stark Tower - it’s impenetrable. He’s a tech genius, his security system isn’t exactly easy to hack. And since he hasn’t been making public appearances lately, what the hell else did Pierce expect me to do? Kamikaze a plane into his penthouse?”

“You should have reported your plan _before_ you made that call,” the agent said. He was ballsy, for a bootlicking dog of war. “We would have provided you with a script to ensure HYDRA’s anonymity. You just came _dangerously_ close to committing treason, pal. Pierce is furious.”

The guy stood up, half a foot shorter than Bucky easily, but apparently he’d gone his whole life without ever learning a lick of self-preservation. “Don’t forget that we have your _bitch_ locked up tight and waiting for his Master to come home. If you _ever_ pull this shit again, you’re gonna be going home to find his head on a spike. And that’s not to mention what we’ll do with the rest of him. Do I make myself clear?”

Bucky stared into the smaller man’s eyes. He had to remind himself that this was his greatest test, right here. The real challenge. Nodding like an obedient soldier after this shitstain just threatened the love of his life, instead of wringing his pasty little neck like he deserved.

But it was for Peter. All of this, from the moment he first shook Pierce’s hand, was for Peter. Bucky would sacrifice every inch of his pride, would swallow his anger and his bloodlust if it meant the boy he loved would be safe. He would do anything if it meant that, somehow, Peter might come out of this ordeal alive.

So he gave the impudent runt a curt nod, said, “It won’t happen again,” then walked over to his suitcase and flipped it open. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, pulling his rifle and his scope from their cases, “I have a high-profile assassination to plan.”

—

The moment the agents left, Bucky was on the move.

He chose this particular motel for a reason. The front and back exits were easy enough to spy on, but the roof - the roof was another matter. It was the tallest building densely packed between two other, shorter structures, and the giant, blinking sign flashing the motel’s name at the top provided the perfect cover for him to slip out of the building unnoticed.

The getaway car he had rented for cash the first time he snuck out of the motel earlier this week was parked innocuously in the alleyway. Bucky waited in the driver seat for the two agents to make their move, but they stayed sitting in their car - one of them on his phone, updating Pierce, most likely - for several hours before another car came to relieve them of their guard duty.

Bucky was careful as he pulled his car onto the street and started tailing his watchdogs. Thankfully Manhattan traffic was easy to blend in to, though it was hard to maintain the proper distance needed to avoid the driver looking into his rear-view mirror and seeing Bucky’s face. Finally, after about an hour of crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic, the car pulled into an underground parking lot beneath a very large and pristinely-white skyscraper in the north-end of Manhattan, not far from Stark Tower itself.

Bucky parked across the street and settled back against his seat. The building was almost as isolated as Stark Tower was, but not quite. Other buildings were close enough that if he had to, he could make an emergency getaway through the windows, but not close enough that he’d be able to climb across on the roof or a balcony. He’d have to sneak in, and if this truly was Pierce’s hiding place, no doubt the man would have security to almost rival that of Tony Stark’s.

It was a colossal pain in the ass.

His plan wasn’t a great one. It was messy and full of risk, but it was the only plan he could conceive where Peter wouldn’t get hurt. The first step was to wait until Pierce’s shiny black Lexus pulled into the parking lot nearly six hours later. The second was returning to his motel, killing the two guards watching for him across the street, and stealing their car, all without anyone seeing him and calling the cops. The third step was to use the guards’ IDs, fingerprints and retinas to gain access to the building, and by the time he had managed all of that - sneakily, without drawing anyone’s attention or suspicions - the night had come and gone and the morning sun was beating down on them overhead.

Once he was in the building, Bucky knew he didn’t have much time. The car and the corpses inside of it would be discovered by someone soon, and he still had to find and dispose of Pierce before the man had a chance to have Peter executed. That meant he couldn’t just rampage his way to the top floor - he needed stealth, patience, and time, and he was almost entirely out of the last two.

But if any part of his plan was easy, it was this. Even more so than waiting around in his car. Killing, at least, was natural to him, came easily in chaotic moments, in crises. The lower levels of the building were clearly reserved for office staff working in whatever fake business Pierce stuffed in here to keep the “Supervillain Headquarters” name off the call directory, but as soon as Bucky hit the fifth floor, the vermin started coming out in droves.

The red insignia of HYDRA’s serpent monster sewn into every uniform certainly was a big help. The tables full of weapons, narcotics, and files recording human trafficking didn’t hurt, either. Bucky kept his knife tight in hand and disposed of each agent he came across - often with a slash to the neck from behind, or strangling them with his metal palm. He wanted to avoid using his guns for as long as possible - the longer Pierce didn’t know he was here, the better chance he had of killing the man before he escaped and had Peter killed.

By some divine providence, it was just on the cusp of noon by the time he arrived, soaked in blood and out of breath, at Pierce’s door.

He’d gone unnoticed as long as he could. The top floor, however, had been crawling with Pierce’s closest agents, his STRIKE team, and Bucky found himself surrounded the moment the elevator doors slipped open.

Twelve men circled around him, guns raised and ready to fire. Pierce sat at his desk across the room, in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, face hard and furious. Everything in here was stark white like a dentist’s office. It made the irritating headache pounding in Bucky’s skull throb and swell to almost unbearable levels.

“You disappoint me, Soldier.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “You disgust me, so I guess that makes us even.”

The man sighed and swiveled his chair sideways. “You’ve thrown away a promising career as a member of my organization, and for what? To protect a man who would have you executed for so much as _thinking_ about his son?”

“I couldn’t care less about Tony Stark,” he said. “I’m not doing this to protect him. I’m doing this because I finally realized that I’m a goddamn liar. I told Peter that loving people sometimes meant letting them go, but I wasn’t willing to do that. I would have rathered orphaned him and made him despise my guts than let him go, and that’s - that’s not love. And it’s not what he deserves. So I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago.”

He shifted on his feet. The man directly to his left, the short, brazen watchdog from his motel room last night, raised his gun a little higher, nearly pressing on the trigger.

“I’m going to free Peter from you and the rest of HYDRA,” Bucky vowed. He braced himself. “Or die trying.”

Pierce’s face darkened.

His men raised their guns.

Bucky lunged.

He went left first, letting his metal arm act as a shield from the spray of bullets directly in his line of sight. His right leg was grazed by bullet fire as he grabbed the man in front of him, that punk who threatened Peter less than a day ago, his metal arm tight around his neck as he used him - and his bulletproof vest - as a shield while he returned fire. Marksman that he was, headshots were his specialty; three men went down before he tossed away his human shield and lunged for the next man to his left.

Gun in his right hand and knife in his left, Bucky slaughtered Pierce’s men one by one until only two remained. Grazed and sliced by the hailstorm of bullets, Bucky stood his ground, ignoring the throbbing pain. The first man dropped his gun and bravely, stupidly lunged with a raised fist, forcing Bucky to deflect it and nearly take a bullet in his head from the other man. He lodged the blade of his knife into his attacker’s throat and spun to deliver a headshot to the final man, pulling the trigger just as another, louder gun was fired, and Bucky felt his abdomen rip open as a shotgun bullet tore through him from behind.

He hit the floor. Blood and pieces of his own entrails had splattered several feet in front of him. He rolled onto his side with an agonized groan, gritting his teeth as Pierce’s perfectly-manicured shiny black shoes stepped into his line of sight.

The man sighed and cocked his gun again, sounding entirely put out. “This really is a shame, Soldier,” he said, like a disappointed school teacher. “You clearly would have exceeded my wildest expectations of you, if only you could have just...accepted your place.”

He knelt in front of Bucky’s face. Bucky stared up into his lifeless, remorseless eyes, clutching his ruptured stomach in a vain attempt to keep it together.

“Before you die, you should know Rumlow is disposing of your little plaything as we speak.” He patted Bucky’s cheek condescendingly. “I told him and Rollins to have some fun with him before they do. They’ll take care of him, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll keep the footage for when I finally get my hands on Stark. I’ll play it for him before I put a bullet in his head.”

The room was tilting dangerously, flashes of white and black dancing across his vision as he bled out. He had maybe four minutes left, tops. Bucky groaned and coughed up a wet mouthful of blood, to Pierce’s grimacing displeasure.

“I hope this was all worth it, _Bucky,_ ” Pierce said. He leaned in closer and added, quiet as a whisper, “Your filthy little slut is going to die an agonizing death, and it’s all thanks to _y--ghh!”_

Bucky’s left hand struck cobra-fast, wrapping around Pierce’s throat and squeezing it like a vice. Pierce frantically reached for his gun, dropped the moment Bucky grabbed him, but Bucky forced himself up - to his knees, then his feet, biting back a wet scream at the pain - and pulled Pierce’s back against his chest, metal hand crushing his throat, his right hand gripping Pierce _hard_ by the back of the head, twisting it, and snapping his neck.

Blood poured down his legs as Pierce’s lifeless body hit the floor. Out of time, Bucky ripped his shirt from his chest and tied it, half-assed and wobbly, around his midsection to keep his body together long enough to make the call. He slid down to the floor by the elevator and pulled the shitty burner phone he picked up a few days ago from his chest pocket. Blood soaked into the keyboard as he dialled.

Tony answered on the first ring. “Let me guess. You’re running late.”

“It’s done,” Bucky wheezed. His voice was wet, jumbled and broken. He sucked in a pained breath through his teeth. “You gotta...you gotta hurry.”

“What’s done?” Thankfully, the man had the good sense to lower his voice. He remained calm and collected as he said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Peter’s in - in...in-Indiana. Wabash County. Six...sixty-twenty-four Littlecreek Road. He’s - in the basement, you gotta - gotta hurry. They have him. They’ll k-kill him.”

“Wait - ”

“The code,” Bucky wheezed, blood pouring from his mouth. “For the d-door. X33G-0#77*. Don’t - don’t call the cops. They have cops working for th-them. They have members in y-your company, on your board - they’re everywhere. H-HYDRA. Led by Alexander Pierce.”

“Pierce,” Tony said. It was a disbelieving sound, exhaled on a breath. “He’s...he was - ”

“I - killed him,” Bucky said. “You’re - in danger. They knew I was-s-supposed to meet you there. They’ll be w-watching. You gotta get out of there, Tony, you gotta get to Indiana _now,_ you’ll n-need men, but only guys you tr--” He coughed, long and agonized, as his lungs momentarily seized. “-- _guys you - tr-trust…_ ”

His vision was going black. All around him, the world was swirling, spiralling. The pain wasn’t even a factor anymore, his brain had blissfully shut it all down. There was only the warmth of his own blood.

“HYDRA is s-still out there,” he heaved. “And they’ll k-kill your s-son if you don’t get there right now. Please…” He forced his hand to stay upright, to keep the phone pressed to the side of his face. He needed to say it. “Please...save him. You have to save him. I’m - begging you.”

Tony said nothing for a moment. Bucky heaved and gasped through the blood filling his mouth, loud and repulsive, probably even worse through the phone. When Tony spoke again, his voice was gentle and cold at the same time. He sounded...regretful.

“Thank you,” he said, “for helping me save my son.”

“Go,” Bucky pleaded.

A click, and the line went dead.

Bucky let his head hang. If Tony could clear out the entirety of Central Park in two minutes, he could fly one of his top secret super planes to Indiana in time. He had to believe that he could. He had to believe that Tony Stark, whether he was a good father or not, would use every scrap of his resources to save Peter’s life.

With the last of his strength, Bucky dragged himself into Pierce’s private elevator. He wrapped another shirt, taken from one of the HYDRA goon’s bodies, around his chest to keep stemming the blood loss and secure it enough that he could move, slightly. The elevator ride back down to the underground garage was long and painful - he continued to slip in and out of consciousness the whole way down.

At last, the doors opened, and with great difficulty Bucky dragged himself to the car he stole earlier. He just needed help getting out of the building, that was all. Once outside, he could find somewhere quiet, somewhere private enough to make one last, final call.

It was almost more trouble than it was worth, but driving himself out of the building allowed him to go right past the cops, undetected, speeding towards the building with their sirens blaring. He drove three blocks and pulled over, dragged himself from the car straight to the mouth of an open alleyway, quick enough that no one had a chance to see the bloody mess covering his entire lower body.

He collapsed behind a dumpster, curled up against the wall, gasping for breath. With his strength fading fast, Bucky lifted his phone, dialled the number he still knew by heart, even after all these years.

“Hello?”

Bucky gasped for breath. “Steve.”

“Bucky?” Steve said. His voice was already panicked. “What’s wrong? You sound - you sound awful.”

“I’m - I don’t have much time,” he said. He wrapped his right arm around his stomach, trying to hold it in, trying to buy himself just a little more time. “I’m hurt bad, Stevie, it’s-s’its really bad.”

“Okay, it’s okay, Buck, it’s going to be okay - ” The sounds of running, keys jingling, doors slamming, Christ, Bucky loved him - “We’ll - we’ll get you some help, okay? It’s all gonna be okay. Just tell me where you are.”

“I’m - ‘m three blocks north from S-Stark Tower. Alleyway, between...8th and 9th. Right side. Behind a - dumpster.”

“Jesus.” Steve was sprinting, now, Bucky could tell. A car door slammed in the background. Everything went black, but for how long, Bucky could no longer tell. “Buck? Buck, you still there? You need to stay with me bud, I need to you to stay awake for me, okay?”

“‘M here,” Bucky slurred.

“Okay, good, that’s good. I’m on my way. You just stay with me, Bucky. Stay with me. Please.”

Bucky tried.

But by the time Steve found him, he couldn’t hold the phone up anymore. He slumped sideways, laid himself on the dirty pavement, watching as Steve sprinted towards him in between black flashes of darkness across his vision. “Bucky! Oh my God, Buck, hang in there - ”

“Stevie,” he whispered. He reached into his pocket, grasped an envelope with his trembling hand, and handed it to his friend with the last of his strength. “Please...that’s...for Peter. Please, give it to hi-him. Tony is...on his w-way to...get him. After...after this...make s-sure he g-gets - gets it. Please, Steve. Please.”

“I will, Bucky, hey, it’s gonna be all right.” He took the letter, pocketed it, ran his hand through Bucky’s hair with one hand and dialled what Bucky assumed to be 911 with the other. “Just stay with me, okay? Please, Buck, I just need you to stay awake. Help is coming, just hang in there.”

Bucky smiled. In the end, the last few months of pure joy he’d been given, being able to share a home and a life with the person he loved, all of it had been thanks to Steve. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took the man’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, closing his eyes. The world went black and even the chorus of sirens and Steve’s frantic, pleading voice all faded to nothing.


	27. Forever

Seeing the sun for the first time in a week would have been better if the first of it he saw wasn’t its reflection off of a pool of blood in their living room. Men in SWAT gear and visors stood around, toppling things and trying to find something not even Peter could guess at. It was overwhelming, left him shaking under his dad’s hands as he was led up the stairs. 

His hand tightened around the little wolf man and spider keychains before shoving them into one pocket. The boxes his and Bucky’s rings came in weighing heavy in the other. Watching his life with Bucky take on the scene of a crime was unreal. He thought he had prepared himself for it but nothing could stop the tears from coming whenever the crash of things breaking hit his ears. The life he’d built with his husband was over, and as awful as it was, he wished it had stayed far longer than it did.

Being outside was a bit better until he realized the familiar vehicle that was always stationed out front was missing. A tight sob left him and he was reminded he wasn’t alone. His dad, who he hadn’t seen in months outside of press releases, dropped to his knees in front of him. Peter was pulled in close, a little too tall for the position to work but couldn’t bear to say anything when the shoulders now below his own trembling hands began to shake with tears. 

“My baby, I thought I lost you. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. I can’t believe some _beast_ was keeping you locked in a dark hole.” The sad, swollen eyes of his father looking up at him, made him weep and attempt to comfort him with clumsy fingers. Ones which were caught and examined. Peter didn’t understand why until Tony’s thumb swiped over his ring. 

“Peter. What is this?” 

“I-” He hiccuped, tried to pull himself together. “I’m married.” 

The look of horror he was greeted with had him pulling away but the large, strong hands from his youth pulled him back in. “Peter, who did this to you? 

Shook his head. “Dad, it’s not what you think. I promise, I- I know it looks bad. You caught up at the worst of all of it. I was happy, things- things just got bad because Pierce got involved and- and-.” He didn’t want to do this. He wanted Bucky, for him to swoop in and save the day like he always did but his husband was nowhere in sight, a fact that made Peter’s stomach drop through the floor. “How- How did you find this place?” 

The murderous rage softened as his father gently pet his hands, as if trying to calm him. “There was a tip. A man who said you were in danger and that men from some underground operation called HYDRA were coming to kill you. He led us around but… in the last call he sent us to you.” 

Oh no, no, nonono- “Did you catch the man’s name?” His heart was caught in his throat. 

“No, kiddo… I-” His dad hesitated. Peter squeezed his shoulders, Tony still kneeling on the ground in front of him. “I don’t think he made it.” 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Peter doesn’t remember much after that. The wail that came from his body was foreign as he crumpled to the ground. Men poured out of the house. He was moved around, at some point ending up in an ambulance. He remembers someone trying to take things out of his pockets, that he swung at them but they still managed to get it. The ring stayed on only by virtue of the fact that his fist was coiled so tightly they would have had to break his fingers to get him to let go of it. 

There was a point he remembers being in the hospital, staring out the window as his dad tried to coax answers out of him for the detective sitting in the chair nearby. They were both obsessed with the ring, desperately wanted to know who gave it to him, why, and if Peter had been mentally broken down to the point of believing whoever had kidnapped him was his husband. He wouldn’t give. They could read back to him every horrible thing Bucky had ever done and he would still rather wire his jaw shut than say a peep. If Bucky was dead, he wasn’t going to let them slander his name, if he is by some miracle not the man who reported his location and situation, then Peter would rather his dad strangle him right there than send his beau back to prison. 

They moved him at some point to a different hospital in New York, set him up with the best therapist money could buy. He was set up in a private room in a mental ward where people were constantly coming in and out to check on him. They tried to give him medications, food, activities to liven him up. He refused all of it. Heard the nurses talking quietly to each other about how the doctor was considering force feeding only because Tony Stark was pushing for it if things came down to it. It wasn’t until the second session with the therapist that life suddenly came back into focus. 

“Who gave you that ring?” The woman, with her tight bun and navy blue pencil skirt, bit her pen after asking the question, watching for a reaction, and she got one. 

Peter straightened, looking down at the delicate band. They had tried to collect it as evidence at one point, he couldn’t remember how long ago or when. “My husband.”

The pause was so minute, Peter almost didn’t catch it. “Your husband, I was informed that you were single on the intake forms.” 

He grew quiet, curled in on himself just a bit. “My dad filled that out, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “Yes, he did, Mr. Stark.” 

“Mr. Barnes.”

There was a beat of silence. “Mr. Barnes… Peter-” She switched away from the formal language quickly, she had found something to jump on, Peter could feel it. “I cannot say anything, to anyone, without your permission. Unless you are going to harm yourself or someone else, and I have genuine reason to believe you would, I am bound by law to keep my lips sealed.” She leaned forward. “Would you like to talk about your husband?” 

There were no tears left to give, even as he felt his body clawing towards the reaction. A quiet “yes” was what she got. 

“Can I ask what his name is?”

“Bucky.” 

“I see, Bucky Barnes then? How did you meet your husband?”

“I- I wrote him, while he was in prison.” 

Peter had to give her kudos for not even flinching. “I see. May I ask what your husband was convicted of?” 

“He was indicted, it doesn’t really matter now.” Even if he knew now that charge was valid, if not then, then at least now. 

She scribbled down a note. “I am aware that you aren’t currently living with him seeing the circumstances, but did you live together?”

“Yes.”

“During that time you were missing?”

She really did know how to hit the nail on the head it seemed. “Yes, we lived in the house they found me in.” 

She leaned forward, setting her clipboard aside and rested her elbows on her knees, watching him. “Peter, what happened when you were missing?”

It was like the floodgates opened. For the first time he got to talk about Bucky, got to tell someone else the way his husband looked through his eyes, the gentle giant of a man who despite everything, Peter loved. He told her everything, even to the car and the basement. She let him speak, asking questions here and there to clarify elements of his story. Otherwise, she listened quietly. By the time he was finished, he felt like he had run a marathon. 

They sat in silence for a few moments as Peter caught his breath. She spoke clearly, and to the point. 

“Peter, have you contacted Steve by chance? Someone who may know what you’re going through having known Bucky?” 

He shook his head, surely she should know that this was the first time he’d spoken in weeks. 

“Do you know his number by chance?”

“I think so?” He’d memorized it back when he’d visited Bucky, just in case he needed to make an emergency call that his dad couldn’t know about. It had been awhile, but he still may have it. 

The lady picked up the phone at her desk, a regular old thing that reminded him of the ones teachers had for work. The wire was just long enough she could set it on the round little table between them. 

“If you want to, you can call him.”

Shocked, Peter stared at the phone. Would he be the one to tell Steve his best friend since childhood was dead, or at the very least missing? Or would he know? Likely the closest thing to next-of-kin Bucky had and would have been told had they identified the body. 

He slowly picked up the phone, typed the number in but kept hesitating on the last number and having to start over. She never rushed him, waiting patiently. Part of him wanted her to leave but the other was scared to be alone with whatever waited for him at the other end of the line. 

The phone rang four times before it was picked up. Steve’s low voice rumbling across the line. “If this is a telemarketer, I’d kindly ask that you take me off your call list.” 

“Steve, it’s Peter.” 

The rustling that came through the speaker hinted that Steve was now up and moving. “Peter? Are you okay? I know that Tony found you but no one’s heard anything since.”

“I’ve… I’ve been in the hospital. They… they told me Bucky died and I went into shock. This is the first time I’ve been lucid in awhile.” 

The silence was dense and heavy. Peter feared that he may have been right and Steve was never told what happened to Bucky. 

“Peter… Why’d they tell you Buck died?” 

He stood up, yanking the phone across the table, the therapist for once looked surprised. “Steve, what do you mean?” 

“He’s been in the hospital off of 16th for the past few weeks. He took a bullet to the gut and barely survived but he’s been stable. He gave me a letter for you but no one has been able to pin you down and Tony has been trying to deal with the aftermath so he hasn’t had time to talk to me.” 

“Can I see him?” 

“Not up to me, kid. I can bring you the letter if you’d like but you gotta check in with Tony or he might burn down the city this time.” 

“I don’t care, I want to see him.” He was squeezing the phone so tight the plastic creaked. 

“Peter, seriously, don’t do anythi-” He hung up. Put the phone back on it’s hook and moved towards the exit. 

“Peter, you need to stay until-” 

He ignored her. Pushing through the exit and looking for a way out. There were bodyguards in the waiting room, he knew that much. So he went the opposite direction. He took a deep breath, already hearing the therapist’s door having opened, no doubt to tell the bodyguards or at least make sure he went that way. He pushed open the exit door, the fire alarms blared and he took off running.

___

It was surprisingly easy to evade his babysitters. Thankfully he was put in day clothes when he went to therapy so he blended in at least a little bit. A few people recognized him but in New York, where people met celebrities while picking up their dry cleaning, he wasn’t paid much attention or mind. 

With no money, he had to walk, and in such a large city it took time. It was overwhelming being back into the city after so long all on his own. He tried to keep his chin up, he’d lived here longer than anywhere else, he could do this. 

By the time he got there, his dad’s men had already beat him. Despite the menacing appearance he walked right past him. They fell in behind him, trying to stop him but he ran away from them. Not far but enough that they jogged after him. He was heading towards the front desk when he spotted the very man he’d spoken to earlier. Steve waved him over, standing by the stairs. He held it open for him and as he ran up Steve called to him. 

“Room 205B. Second floor. Turn left, can’t miss it.” He also held out the letter. 

Peter snatched it with a quick, “thank you”, before booking it up the stairs, the stairwell door slamming behind him. 

He didn’t stop until he was in front of the door. The bodyguards surely were not far behind but he needed a second. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent so long apart from Bucky, but it was the most traumatic by far. He knocked, hearing nothing in response he cracked the door open. Sitting on the edge of the bed, taped up and shirtless, was Bucky. 

Instead of the explosive joy he expected, there was a peace that came over him. He slipped in, unnoticed, until the door clicked shut. Bucky looked up, eyes sharp but still holding a bit of a fuzz likely caused by pain killers. He straightened and tried to stand up but Peter beat him to the punch. He was already wedging himself between those massive thighs and wrapping his arms around his neck. The letter was still in his hand, but forgotten as he squeezed, finally letting the tears flow as he clung on for dear life. 

The hands he loved, the ones that he had missed so, so much in the weeks since he’d seen Bucky, were rubbing up and down his back, soothing. Peter hiccupped when lips grazed across his cheek and pressed tender little kisses there. 

“Hey baby, miss me?” 

“More than you can imagine, Daddy.” He teased but it came out wet and muddled. 

“You doin’ somethin’ you’re not supposed to by bein’ here?” 

“When have I ever gotten permission to be with you?”

Bucky laughed, flinched when it pulled at his still battered torso. “Guess you’re right. How long before they come to collect you?”

The door swung open, prevented from denting the wall by a hand still firmly on the handle. Peter had expected a bodyguard, instead he got the imposing figure of his father. Bucky’s hands squeezed his hips gently before tucking into his lap. 

“Is this him?” 

That could mean so many different things, Peter didn’t even know how to begin answering. 

Tony gestured to his own ring finger. 

Peter nodded, almost violently. “Yes.” 

Still, Tony didn’t move. “Was he the one who took you?” 

Peter pressed tighter into Bucky, tightening his arms around him. “I went with him.” 

“Peter… why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because… I thought you would hate him, that you would do everything to keep us apart.” 

Tony was silent before a deep, tired sigh left him. He walked over and sat in a chair next to the embracing pair. 

“After experiencing losing you because of that fear, I think I’m willing to be a bit more open minded. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I… I don’t know if you’ll like it.” 

“Seems that doesn’t stop you these days.” The smile he gets is sweet but tired, the one of a father watching his child grow up and be just a little bit of a rascal about it. 

He told him the basics, how they met, how they ran away, living together, and with great pause, eventually Bucky’s job. At some point Bucky’s hands had returned to his hips, rubbing soothing circles into his sides, encouraging him to keep going. It was hard, especially as he watched hurt, fear, and anger pass through the dark eyes of his father. By the end he was shaking and Bucky was shifting so he could sit on the bed. He didn’t take the seat, staying between Bucky’s thighs where safety was. If this was the last time he was going to be able to touch his husband, then he wanted to cherish it. 

Tony sighed. “This is one of those times I really wish I still smoked.” He readjusted in his chair to look at the two of them. “Peter, I’m not going to lie, I’m pissed and hurt, but I can’t change the past. And you-” He points at Bucky. “If it weren’t for you Peter would be dead, but if it also weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.” 

Bucky didn’t shy away. “I know sir, and for that I am sorry. I didn’t ever want to hurt him, but I was selfish in thinking my actions wouldn’t come back to haunt both of us. I’ll respect whatever decision you come to.” 

“Bucky!-”

“Hm, brave considering I’m sure you know just how bad I could make things for you.” Tony turned his attention back to Peter. “But you would never forgive me.” Eyes twitched towards Bucky and then back to his son. “And it seems you’ve already decided not to keep on going without him if the last few weeks are any thing to go by.” 

Peter nodded, opened his mouth to respond but was cut off. 

“Mr. Stark, would you be so kind as to step out for a moment? I would like to make sure Peter knows… everything I’ve done before he decides.” The tone suggested that ‘everything’ was not going to be good. 

“I guess, I’ll be just around the corner.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Confused as his father left, he wasn’t sure what Bucky would say, except he said nothing at all. His arms were pulled away from around Bucky’s neck and the forgotten letter in his hand was flipped open by Bucky and handed, opened, to him. 

“I want you to read it. All of it. I can’t let you do this without knowing it all.” 

Frightened but stubborn, he unfolded the letter and read it. It should have been more world shattering than he felt. It outlined everything, the manipulation, the lies, his exact kill count, the burning of the letter to his father, what he did to Skip. It was disturbing. Felt like something out of a horror movie but the note at the end, that was why he knew he was going to stay. It was why he fell in love with this man knowing there were likely horrid, evil things in his past. 

_Peter, I’ve never said it to you, but you are my soulmate. The man I would spend the rest of my life with. You are far too kind for me, and yet you’ve loved me all this time, while I lied to you. I want you to know that the one thing I never, ever faked or exaggerated, was how much I love you. You made me want to be a better man. I likely won’t be alive when you read this unless by some miracle Pierce’s goons don’t get me. But, if I do, I want to spend every day loving you, every day trying to make up for all the awful, terrible things I have done. I won’t force you to stay, your happiness is what I want. If that means I rot in a ditch somewhere while you find a nice, rich man to support you, so long as you are happy, I will leave you to decide your own destiny._

_I love you Peter Stark. Forever._

_Yours,_

_Bucky._

The silence was heavier than death as he reached the end of the letter. He felt Bucky withdraw from him, somewhere deep inside himself. Peter stood up and went to the bathroom, turned the sink on, and stuck the letter under it until all the ink was intangible. He walked back out, holding the wet mass, and threw it into the garbage where Bucky could see it. 

Without hesitation, Peter straddled Bucky’s lap, careful of his wounds, and kissed him like a man returning home from war, because wasn’t it in some ways? He sealed them together, holding Bucky’s face between his palms and fighting the need to come up for air tooth and nail until the very last second. He dove back in, shuddering as Bucky cupped the back of his head and took over. If they weren’t in a hospital room with his dad just outside, Peter would have begged for Bucky to fuck him into the ground and promise never to leave again. In fact… 

Peter pulled away. “I forgive you, but I need you to promise me something.” 

Bucky’s fingers flexed in his hair and he refused to look away or so much as blink. “Anything.” 

“You can’t ever leave me alone again.”

“Never, not if they held me at gunpoint. Never again.” 

“And you’ll find something else to do for a career. Anything else, even if we’re poorer than dirt, Bucky.” 

“Planned on it, sweetheart.” 

“Then I think you owe me a wedding, Barnes.” 

Bucky grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of letting the world go without knowing I belong to you.”

___

The wedding took place in the winter. A lovely venue, a small venue that Peter had convinced his dad was much more their speed than an elaborate ballroom. Tony had taken things surprisingly well after that. 

“So long as Barnes’ cleans up his act and you let me harass you over the phone on the weekly, I won’t say a peep.” 

As Peter walked up the abnormally long isle, he felt the surreal nature of the situation hitting him. A dream that was never meant to come true but had. Tony leaned in to talk to him quietly as they walked. 

“Getting cold feet?”

“Not really possible, considering everything.”

His dad chuckled. “At least he’s nice. Or maybe just good at sucking up. Swear the guy knows every weakness I have and has been using it to get the Father-in-Law Seal of Approval.” 

Peter giggled into the back of his hand, grinning. “He probably does. I think he’s just trying to overcompensate. I think he still feels bad.”

“That’s fine by me. Gave the guy a job and my son, should earn me some respect and groveling.”

Smiling. “You’re terrible, dad.”

“I know. But you’re stuck with me this time.” 

“Happy to be.” 

They reached the altar and Tony gave him a kiss on the hand before releasing him, going to his spot in the front row. Steve, the best man and only other person beside the grooms and priest, stood beaming. The cameras in the back were easy to ignore. Tony Stark’s son getting married was like the American version of the Royal Wedding. Still, this was for show, they’d been married long before this. This was for everyone else. 

Bucky looked hot on a bad day, today with his hair down and that smile directed his way, Peter would be surprised if every household in America wasn’t just a little bit enamored with his groom. They were stuck on each other. Going through the motions as they said their vows, and “I do”s. By the time it was time for the kiss, Peter felt like he was coming out from under a fog. It made the dip all the more surprising as Bucky kissed him like he was trying to put on a good show. Peter couldn’t help but put on a bit of one himself. When they finally pulled away, Peter was crying, happy and overwhelmed. Bucky kissed away the tears, leaning down to his ear, hidden from the public view. 

“You and me, baby. Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ru and I both sobbed realizing this is the end for this story, but I'm so glad we got to share it and nurture it into the thing it has become. Our original idea, the one I proposed at the start, was so, so much darker. The ending tailored to be a "survivor escapes, bad man is put in jail" but after a few chapters... it really became clear that despite everything that we may have wanted to do, these two in this universe were really and truly meant to be together. Call me corny, but it is genuinely the way I feel about it. 
> 
> I hope y'all came to love Forever as much as we did. It was literally our child and grew our friendship from the ground up. While I know this is not the end for Ru and I, it is bittersweet to let go of this era. It was a blast guys, I hope some of you will be willing to follow us into our next grand adventure, whatever that may end up being. 
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Leopardtail's Tumblr](https://ceratonia-siliqua.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Ru's Tumblr](https://send-me-your-hcs.tumblr.com/)


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